A Rickety Bridge
by cominupr0ses
Summary: Set around the time of Hold On To Sixteen ... What happens when the girl you love decides to move on? A look into Sam Evans' life following his departure from McKinley, and his journey back to where he belonged all along.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

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><p><strong>Chapter One: A Song To Sing<strong>

December 2011

_Goodbye four leaf clovers _

_Hello gone awry _

_Don't cry the fight ain't over _

_Unless you let it pass you by_

"Hey White Chocolate! Don't forget to lock up when you're finished here. Not much to steal in this dump, but you never know when some drunk off her ass cougar will get the stupid idea to break in here and try to hide out in a dressing room."

Sam Evans rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively towards his boss, not even bothering to look up from the tables he was wiping. "Jimmy, I've been working here for nearly five months now. I think I've got the routine covered. Now get your ass outta here before I decide to go get my shits and giggles elsewhere." He smirked to himself and moved onto the next table.

"I told ya kid ... I got other people who can do this. It was never part of the agreement."

"Are you gonna make me forcibly remove you from your own bar?" Sam looked up and rolled his eyes at the short, balding man standing near the front exit who was looking at him with just enough concern that he feared borderlined on pity. "Go home. You know I can clean this place better than any of the other morons you've got working here. Besides ..." He lowered his gaze back to the table briefly before shrugging his shoulders. "I need the money. And I'll give you twice the work for half the pay. So just let me have at it, all right?" He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair before he returned to scrubbing off a particularly sticky mustard stain on the table.

Jimmy nodded. "Ok kid. See ya tomorrow." He stepped out into the cool night air and turned to have one last look at the hardened young man who had become his golden ticket. During daylight, he would have guessed the kid to be younger than the eighteen years listed on his drivers license, but at night under the hazy glow of dusty spot lights he seemed much older. The circles beneath his eyes seemed darker and the lines creasing his forehead deeper. Fighting the churning feeling in his stomach that he always felt when he remembered that the kid was younger than his eldest son, Jimmy turned back towards the parking lot and slammed the door behind him. As he walked into the night he reminded himself that Stallionz was his only source of income right now, and that he had bills to pay too.

Hearing the sound of the door swinging shut caused Sam to breathe a sigh of relief. He could relax a little now that he was alone. Not that he didn't like Jimmy; it was pretty much the opposite, actually. His boss had always been good to Sam. He never gave him too much shit for being the youngest one working at the bar and, most importantly, he had never once laughed in Sam's face when he showed up those five months ago to beg for a chance to make more money than the Dairy Queen could ever offer. Instead, he had given him a job at a time when he probably couldn't afford to do to so. In the end, things had worked out in both of their favors, but he would always appreciate what Jimmy had done for him. Many people seemed to think he was sleazy, but that just came with the territory. Despite owning the only bar within a 50 mile radius to feature male strippers, Jimmy actually wasn't a bad person. He was just another guy doing what he had to do to feed his family in an economy that had went to shit.

Sam could relate.

Even so, he was always relieved when the end of the night came and he could finally be alone. He tried not to speak too much about his family situation, but Jimmy wasn't stupid. He never let on exactly how much of his story he knew, but in the minutes every night before he left, it was clear he didn't buy the "college kid working his way through school" story he had been told. Thus, Sam knew well enough to get the man out of the bar before he could sense that the hard exterior his prized dancer worked to maintain would crumble with just the right look. And if that happened? He could kiss his job goodbye, along with the house his family was just barely scraping together payments for.

It's not like Sam completely hated the job. The pay was better than any guy he went to school with could ever dream of, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't find it both amusing and sometimes flattering that most of the women who had frequented the bar lately had come to see him. He never stripped down past his trademark little red shorts (not yet anyway), but that seemed to be part of his appeal. He had been blessed the dirty blonde hair and flawless skin that made the older women want to mother him, and the pillow lips and piercing green eyes that made them want to take him to bed. It also didn't hurt that he had learned how to move his hips in a way that made even the boldest of the bar's patrons blush.

Sam snickered to himself as he wiped down the last dirty table the bar had to offer. Who would have thought that the geeky guy with the big mouth from a year and a half ago would have transformed into someone referred to as White Chocolate? Maybe if the circumstances surrounding his new found skeezy stardom had been different he would have appreciated it more. But as he rubbed the back of his neck, still sticky with a mixture of sweat and alcohol and glitter, he couldn't ignore the feeling of dirtiness that always came in the early morning hours he spent cleaning up after a show. Maybe his un-appreciation stemmed from the fact that his mother would be so ashamed if she found out ... Or that he was tired of lying to just about everyone he knew about why the Dairy Queen made him stay so late all the time.

But mostly, it was that despite the fact that he could rake in one hundred bucks, easily, from stripping on a good night ... Despite how many times the waitresses he worked with would try to get him to fuck them in the storage closet ... He was, at his core, simply a shy, dorky kid who was doing what he had to do to make sure that his family never again had to deal with all that had been thrown at them last year. The memories of hearing his mother cry herself to sleep or seeing how his father had aged ten years seemingly overnight was enough to make him swallow his pride and come back to work night after night. This life and the shame it brought him was never something he would have planned for himself, but it was the only life he had and there came a time when every boy had to man up and get the job done. Maybe the dirtiness was something that would wash away with time. Or maybe he'd simply become numb to it ... He wasn't sure which one he hoped for more.

"Ugh." Sam grunted as he lifted the bucket of soapy, dirty water he had used earlier to mop the floor and dumped it into the sink. The point of him offering his cleaning services to Jimmy was so that he could earn a little extra money and have some peace and quiet. However, more often than not, his thoughts turned to what was and what could have been and he left the bar feeling slightly more unhinged than he had when he arrived. The deal was that Sam would clean (though for significantly less money than what previous guy had earned), and in turn he was allowed to stash his guitar in the dressing room and use sound equipment to practice on stage after hours. There were many times were Sam could have kicked himself for not leaving the damn guitar at home and negotiating a higher wage, but he knew that without quiet nights alone with his music, he'd never make it to work anyway.

He chuckled slightly and shook his head at himself. Jesus. It was a good thing no one could read his mind, otherwise he'd be headed for a 72-hour hold at the nearest hospital for sure. It was a good thing he had a talent for looking upbeat.

With all of his cleaning finished, Sam headed towards the back of the building to the dressing room where his belongings sat in their own corner. As he fought back a yawn, he reached into the side pocket of his backpack and pulled out his phone. It was the cheapest thing you could imagine; most kids his brother and sister went to school with had nicer ones, but it was the one thing his mother had insisted on when he told them her was taking a job that required he work late nights ("to clean and prepare all the food for the next day ... This is the biggest DQ in the state of Kentucky, Ma!" is what he always told her when she questioned his hours). She said that it helped her sleep better at night knowing he had a way to call home in case he needed anything. He felt guilty for making his parents spend their hard earned money on the cheapest family plan available, but they insisted that it was cheaper than a landline for the house.

Whether or not that was true, he wasn't sure, but he chose to believe them anyway.

As he started to swing his backpack over his shoulder, Sam lazily opened his phone and glanced at the screen. His eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the name that popped up as a missed call. It had been over two months since they'd talked. The communication before then hadn't been all that productive, but it was a tie to his old world nonetheless.

He stared at the number for several moments before plopping down onto the worn couch next to his belongings, the lure of going home momentarily forgotten. For his sanity he knew that he should ignore the number and continue on his way, but he had always been a curious kid, sometimes even to a fault. He even had the scars to prove it ... But what could returning the call hurt, anyway?

Sam sighed at his own naive thoughts. There was plenty that could hurt, considering he was still in an admittedly fragile state, though things were getting better. Thoughts that had kept him up all night when he had first moved to Kentucky had gradually gotten less consuming, to the point where most nights he fell asleep within minutes of going to bed. However, he knew that he was an obsesser. He thought too much and felt too deeply - traits that had defined him for as long as he could remember, but that didn't necessarily make his life easy. This call ... From this person ... Had the great potential to royally mess with his head and screw up all the progress he had made.

He debated for several long minutes before finally grunting and pushing the redial button. Years of playing sports had not only instilled a fierce competitiveness within him, but a unwillingness to back down from a challenge, no matter how dumb it would be to accept.

Drumming his fingers against the arm of the couch, he counted rings.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Fi-.

"Sam? It's one o'clock. Is that really you?"

"Hey, Quinn..."

_I'm looking for a song to sing _

_I'm looking for a friend to borrow _

_I'm looking for my radio _

_So I might find a heart to follow _

_I've never been just longing for your loving _

_I've never been just wearing down to nothing _

_I've never been just looking for a reason _

_So that maybe you'd be thinking of me_

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><p><strong>Author's Note: If anyone is reading this, thanks! I hope you enjoyed it! This is my own little way of getting through the hiatus. :) Reviews would be greatly appreciated. <strong>

**In the story, each chapter will be a song title. Depending on whether the song's influence is slight or very strong, lyrics will either be at the beginning and end of the chapter, or mixed in throughout. The song used in this chapter was "A Song To Sing" by Hanson, mostly to set the tone of Sam's life. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

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><p><strong>Chapter Two: The Heart of the Matter<strong>

"It really is you! I wasn't sure if you'd call me back. How the heck are you?"

The excitement in Quinn's voice made Sam smile. "I'm doin' ok. Working a lot, going to school ... Trying to keep up with everything. You know how it is, Miss Straight A's."

For Sam, school had always been challenging, and it was a constant struggle to keep his grades above the "average" mark. If they started to slip, he knew that his parents would force him to quit his job and get tutored after school, and he'd be damned if he let that happen. Thus, since he'd gotten the job at Stallionz, he'd taken to doing homework in Jimmy's office nearly every day after school, and studied between shows at night. It wasn't the most ideal place to concentrate, but it was better than nothing. His favorite waitress, Jeanie, was in her mid-thirties and a former substitute teacher, and during lulls at the bar she would periodically help him study when she sensed that he was having a rough day. Some days he handled his dyslexia better than others, and it was on a particularly frustrating day that he'd confessed to her that he wasn't the college student he claimed to be. She had chuckled and patted his cheek, looking at him in the same way his mother often did. It was then that he realized that she had known all along.

Quinn's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sam? I think maybe we have a bad connection. Are you still working at the restaurant?" She was the only one who knew that he wasn't working at Dairy Queen. He may have stretched the truth when he referred to the bar as a "restaurant" and to himself as a "waiter," but at least he never had to explain his light night tendencies to her.

"Uh. Yeah. Livin' the dream." The drawl that he had managed to keep contained when he lived in Lima seemed to come out all the time now. In his opinion, Kentucky didn't have the same southern charm that Tennessee did (and the sweet tea never really tasted right), but that didn't stop everyone he knew from having an accent. "But that's enough about me. How are you? We haven't talked in awhile."

He hadn't planned on talking to her at all, actually. Not initially. While he no longer harbored resentment towards Quinn for her antics last year, he never figured that they'd be close. However, she had eventually apologized to him for cheating with Finn, and their relationship gradually became friendly again. He was grateful to her for her discretion last year when she'd found out that his family had lost their house, and even more so for her willingness to defend him against all the rumors that had started to circulate shortly after. Even so, things had changed as the summer had begun, and he saw less and less of her. After his family moved, he had figured that she would end up being another face in his yearbook, like so many of the other friends he had left behind throughout the years. But things always have a way of working out in the way that you least expect them to, and when she had called one day after he'd first moved and said that she'd gotten his parents' number from their old pastor, he'd agreed to talk. Once he'd gotten a phone of his own, he passed on the number and eventually she'd become somewhat of confidant. Their conversations were deep, but not soul-bearing. He and Quinn remained close, yet distant, as they both seemed to sense that the other was dealing with things that were better left unmentioned.

"Yeah, about that ..." She paused and Sam could hear her sigh through the phone. He smiled slightly to himself, knowing that she was undoubtedly moving her cross back and forth along the chain of her necklace, a nervous habit she could never seem to break. "That's kinda why I called. To apologize. I've been kind of MIA lately and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you."

"It's okay, Quinn. Really." Sometimes he was too forgiving, but what else was there to say? He knew her well enough to realize that her first defensive mechanism against anything was distance. And besides, it's not like he had made that much more of an effort to talk than she had.

"No, it's not. Things have been ... Complicated. But that's no excuse." She didn't seem to want to elaborate on the circumstances behind her absence, and he didn't ask any additional questions. Clearly the issue would not be opened any further than what she'd already allowed.

"Hey, I told you it was okay. No biggie. Not much has been goin' on in the exciting life of Sam Evans either. Just keepin' busy, mostly. I haven't even had time to work on my Family Guy impressions ..." He blushed a little at the piece of information he let slip. She'd always thought of his impressions as dorky ...Which is not to say that they weren't, but some people thought they were cute. One person ...

Quinn chuckled softly. "You're still the same guy huh? Kentucky hasn't changed you."

He smiled. "Me change? Nah. You'll always know what you're gettin' with this guy."

"That's good. I'm counting on that ..."

What was that supposed to mean? He could hear a slight edge in her voice, and quirked an eyebrow, even though she couldn't see it.

"What's up, Fabray? That sounded a little cryptic, even for you."

He expected at least a chuckle, but it never came. Instead there was a long pause before she spoke. "I wanted to call and tell you this awhile ago, but I could never find a time that seemed right. And then some stuff happened and ..." She trailed off. "It's about ... Mercedes."

_I got the call today, I didn't wanna hear_

_But I knew that it would come_

Sam felt the familiar lurch of his heart jumping into his throat at the mention of her name, and sat up straight, coughing slightly.

"Wh-what about her? Is she okay?" With his words the composed demeanor he tried so hard to maintain when he talked with Quinn seemed to deteriorate. Suddenly he became the same protective boy he had been those seven months ago at the junior prom, doing whatever he could to look out for her. Never wanting to see those sad eyes again.

He bit his lip. Who was he kidding? He had never stopped being that boy. Space and time and an entire universe could have separated them and he'd always be that boy. He did a good job of ignoring the shots of pain that shot through his body whenever anyone mentioned Lima or his former life, but deep down he was still just as gutted by their separation as he had been the day he left.

"She's fine. Great, actually ..."

Then what was the purpose of this call? From the very beginning of their new friendship, he and Quinn had agreed to let sleeping dogs lie when it came to Mercedes. And since then, her name had never been mentioned.

"Quinn ... What-"

"She has a boyfriend, Sam. She's _had_ a boyfriend. For several months now."

_An old, true friend of ours was talkin' on the phone_

_She said you'd found someone_

He had sensed the words before she said them, but his stomach still flipped as he processed the new information. He had known this day would come, had expected it for awhile now. But that didn't stop the dull ache that had been sitting in the back of his head all night from extending throughout his brain until even his eyes hurt. He'd never had a migraine before, but there was a first time for everything.

_And I thought of all the bad luck_

_And the struggles we went through_

_And how I lost me and you lost you_

He closed his eyes as he swallowed hard and let out a slow breath. "I ... I'm happy for her. If anyone deserves to have someone, it's Mercedes."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I expected you to freak out. I wouldn't blame you if you did."

He sunk deeper into the couch cushions and shrugged, making the conscious effort to _not_ freak out. "You said it yourself, Quinn. I'm still the same old me. I'm not going to get mad just because she made the choice to move on. All I want is for her to be happy. And if that means it's with someone who's not me ... Well ... That sucks, but there's not much I can do about it."

_What are these voices outside love's open door_

_Make us throw off our contentment_

_And beg for something more?_

"There's plenty you could do. I have her number right here and I could give it to you and you could-"

"No, Quinn. What's the point? All me calling her is going to do is mess with her head. It's bad enough that I ... That I left. She doesn't need another reason to hate me." He shook his head. "I can't. Maybe it's time to let go. Maybe the best thing for her isn't me anymore."

_I'm learning to live without you now_

_But I miss you sometimes_

_The more I know, the less I understand_

_All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning again_

_I've been tryin' to get down_

_To the heart of the matter_ _b__ut my will gets weak_

_And my thoughts seem to scatter_

_But I think it's about forgiveness_

_Forgiveness_

_Even if, even if you don't love me anymore_

"But you're in love with her, Sam. Doesn't that mean anything to you anymore?" Her voice was sharp now, and he could picture those intense green eyes of hers glaring at him through the phone. For a moment, he was thankful that she couldn't see him. "You're not the same guy. The Sam I know ... Sam I Am ... He believes in soulmates and grand gestures and changing the world, no matter who, or how small, you are. That guy, he formed the damned Justin Bieber experience just to impress some girl who didn't even deserve him! I want that Sam back. So where is he? Why won't he fight for Mercedes the way he fights for anything and _everyone_ else?"

_Ah, these times are so uncertain_

_There's a yearning undefined_

_And people filled with rage_

_We all need a little tenderness_

_How can love survive in such a graceless age?_

Her words made him cringe, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose in an effort to calm himself. Quinn had always been brutally honest, but he'd never been on the receiving ends of one of her lectures before. "You know that saying? That one that says if you let someone go and they come back to you, then the relationship was meant to be? And that if they don't come back then they were never really yours to begin with? I need to do that ... I need to let her go so we can both move forward."

"I think she still loves you too."

Once again, Sam felt his stomach flip at her words, but he quickly pushed away the small seed of hope that they planted. He couldn't let these thoughts consume him again. "Mercedes doesn't love me. Don't you remember? I'm 'so June.' And ya know what? That's okay with me. We had our time, and now life is continuing on. That's the way it should be."

_Ah, the trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness_

_They're the very things we kill, I guess_

_Ohh, pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms_

_And the work I put between us _

_You know it doesn't keep me warm_

"You can't believe that. You can't _honestly _believe that, Sam. Please, let me just talk to he-"

He couldn't take it anymore. "Thanks for letting me know, Quinn. I appreciate it." Maybe this was for the best. If she had moved on, then it meant that he could too; that he _should_. Maybe now he could really focus on making a life for himself in Kentucky, and stop imagining reunions that would never come.

_I'm learning to live without you now_

_But I miss you, baby_

_The more I know, the less I understand_

_All the things I thought I'd figured out_

_I have to learn again_

Quinn sighed again, seemingly defeated. "Are you going to be okay?"

He smiled. That would remain to be seen. "Of course I am. Homelessness kinda gives you a thick skin for everything else life throws at you."

He hated to play the poor kid card, but right now he really just needed to get her off the phone. If he let her speak anymore about fighting for love and not giving up, there was a good chance he'd say "fuck it all" and drive all the way to Lima just to look into those brown eyes and see if he still had even a shred of a chance. And that just couldn't happen.

"I know ... I guess I just worry about you."

"I appreciate it, Quinn, but please. Don't waste your time on me. I'll be okay. It's better this way." Despite his bravado, he couldn't bring himself to believe that, but maybe saying the words out loud would trick his mind into agreeing.

"Maybe it is ..." She paused and Sam could tell that she wasn't buying it. Once again, he was reminded that one of the best things about Quinn was that she never pushed him beyond a certain point. Despite her frustration with him, she knew that this was his way of drawing a line in the sand, and she had to respect that, even if it pissed her off to no end. "Well, I know that you know this conversation did not go the way I wanted it to. But I just thought you deserved to know ... But anyway, it's late so I should probably go ... Church in the morning you know."

He groaned softly and cringed. "Yeah, tell me about it. At least we go to the late service." Not that it would make keeping his eyes open any easier. "Thanks for the call, Quinn. I appreciate you letting me know. Now don't be a stranger, huh? You know I'll listen if you need to talk about your ... Complications."

"I know. Thanks. I'll call again soon. Goodnight, Sam. Take care of yourself."

"You too. Goodnight."

Sam disconnected and tossed his phone into his backpack, sighing. He really did need to get home, though the last thing he wanted to do was lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. His string of good nights was sure to come to an end now.

"Damn it," he muttered as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. Just when he was starting to get a handle on things. It seemed like the universe had a funny way turning itself upside down right when his life had begun to gain some normalcy.

Grunting, he grabbed his backpack and walked quickly towards the front door. Normally after a long night at work he liked to strum on his guitar to wind down, but tonight the music would only bring more thoughts of her. He already had enough of those to last a life time.

"Mercedes Jones."

Would there ever come a day when that name would leave his lips without bringing a rush of heat that spread through his neck and all the way down his back? Sam was beginning to doubt it, but clearly it was another thing he needed to learn to get over.

He exited the bar and locked the door behind him, grateful for the relief the cool night air provided him. Goosebumps immediately popped up on his skin, but he didn't mind the chill. It was a nice change from the stale air inside the bar and it gave him a sobering feeling that he was going to need if he wanted to make it home in one piece tonight.

This is for the best.

This is for the best.

Repetition was the best way for the brain to remember new information right?

This is for the best.

Maybe if she could move on, she could forgive him for leaving.

This is for the best.

He got into his car and prayed that the engine wouldn't give him trouble tonight. After sputtering for several seconds, it rolled over and he sighed in relief. At least one thing was working out in his favor. After fastening his seatbelt he immediately went to the radio and flipped it to the only tolerable station he'd been able to find throughout in his time in Kentucky. Nothing soothed his soul like a little classic rock.

He drove on autopilot for miles, taking solace in the likes of John Mellencamp and Bruce Springsteen, singing along to songs that he both loved and hated in an attempt to keep the thoughts of her back at the bar. He'd managed to make it nearly all the way home before the opening guitar riffs of one of his favorite songs made him gradually pull his car over to the side of the road as a feeling of tightness spread through his chest.

_I've been tryin' to get down to the heart of the matter_

_But my will gets weak_ a_nd my thoughts seem to scatter_

_But I think it's about forgiveness_

_Forgiveness_

_Even if, even if you don't love me ..._

_I've been tryin' to get down_ _to the heart of the matter_

_Because the flesh will get weak_ _and the ashes will scatter_

_So I'm thinkin' about forgiveness_

_Forgiveness_

_Even if, even if you don't love me_

"Shit."

Resting his head against the steering wheel, Sam wondered how he'd gotten to this point. She'd moved on and he was still stuck. Stuck in the same place he'd been before he met her. He had fought the good fight and pulled himself out of the darkness, only to get pulled back again, in deeper than he had been before.

It was the realization that he may never get back to the place where there was light, and back to her, that made him finally allow the tears that had been building in his eyes to fall.

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><p><strong>Author's note: Thanks to those who have favoritedreviewed/liked! The feedback is appreciated! I promise that things will not always be so angsty, but we have to start somewhere right? I am going to try to respect the Glee cannon the show had given us, but some things will be changed to fit with the story. **

**This chapter was heavily influenced by the song "The Heart of the Matter" by Don Henley. It was the inspiration for this whole story, actually. I heard it and HAD to write something. :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**Chapter Three: Summer Love / Summer Is Over**

6 Months Earlier

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><p><em>I'mma freak you right, each and every night<em>

_I know how to do it insane girl_

_'Cause I can make it hot, make it stop_

_Make you wanna say my name girl_

_Come on baby please 'cause I'm on my knees_

_Can't get you off my brain girl_

_But who would've thought that you could be the one 'cause I ..._

_I can't wait to fall in love with you_

_You can't wait to fall in love with me_

_This just can't be summer love, you'll see ... __  
><em>

"Samuel James Evans, you need to wipe that smile off of your face! You look like the cat that just caught the canary! My momma sees that and you won't be allowed inside my house for a month!" Mercedes giggled and playfully slapped his ever wandering hand away from her butt. "C'mon now! We're right in front of my house! Be good!"

Sam grinned and gave a soft growl, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her close to him. His mother was the only other person who ever called him by his full name, and usually it meant that he was about to get reprimanded for one thing (reading comics at the dinner table) or another (he seemed to have a habit for leaving a trail of messiness and destruction in his wake whenever he left a room). But when Mercedes said it ... There was a completely different undertone in her voice that drove him crazy. "I love it when you boss me around." He turned so that he was facing her, careful to never let her dance away from his grip, and smirked. "It's sexy ..."

It was her turn to giggle again as a faint blush made its way across her cheeks. "Oh it is, huh?" She lowered her head bashfully for a moment and then looked up at him through full lashes. _That_was a look that also drove him crazy. To be perfectly honest, pretty much everything Mercedes did had the same effect on him, and it made for many cold showers back at the motel. He'd be willing to bet his paycheck from the pizza parlor that he was the cleanest guy in Lima.

"Mmm." He bit his lip and nodded, eyes twinkling. It'd be a lie if he said that he didn't enjoy seeing the powerful diva get a little flustered every now and then. Whether Mercedes knew it or not, she had him wrapped around her little finger, and it was nice to be able to turn the tables on her, even if it was only for the briefest moments. "Absolutely! It's like ... Cat Woman sexy! A lesser man than Sam Evans wouldn't be able to handle all that sexy. But luckily for you, he knows exactly what to do." He eyed her lips and was bending down to show her just how sexy he thought she was when she let out a howl.

"Cat Woman! Really? Talking about yourself in the third person! _Really_? Who does that?" She couldn't contain the shrieks of laugher that came from her mouth and her eyes danced as she shook her head. "You are. ... So damn unbelievable."

The sight of her, shoulders shaking with her head nuzzled into his chest, was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. He buried his face in her hair and sighed contently, committing the smell of her shampoo to memory. For one fleeting moment, everything that had been haunting him for the past two weeks seemed to fade into the background like white noise and he allowed himself to get lost in her. Ever since his family had moved into the seedy motel in Lima Heights Adjacent, Sam hadn't allowed himself to feel too much about anything, but when he was with her, it was impossible to focus on anything but how ridiculously, completely, _dorkily _happy she made him. He'd never thought of himself a moody kid; he was always pretty easy going and generally okay with how his life was going, but being with her made him feel a completeness that he had never experienced before, despite the fact that his family situation had been at an all-time low ever since they started dating.

"You know how I feel about Cat Woman. I wouldn't lie," he murmured quietly, his heart suddenly beating faster as the moment passed and he realized that dusk was settling in. The hazy sky was a reality check. The day would be over too soon, and nothing between them would be the same. He had so much to tell her, but he couldn't bring his mouth to form the words. Not yet.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck, never moving her head away from his chest. "And you know how I feel about Batman ... After Val Kilmer and George Clooney both nearly killed the franchise, I always kinda had to picture Denzel in my head to be able to get back to my happy place when I watched the movies ... And even though the new ones are great ... I like my real life version much better." She giggled softly and pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone. "I mean, have you seen yourself in glasses? It's like you're begging me to call you Bruce Wayne."

His breath caught in his throat. Oh shit.

And suddenly the tables were turned. She always had a knack for flipping the switch on him just when he thought he had finally gained some control. Nothing got him hotter under the collar than her talking comics and superheroes, a fact that he tried to keep hidden but that apparently must have been a little more obvious than he thought. How in the hell was he supposed to just walk away from someone who was his other half in so many ways that she didn't even realize yet?

Sam swallowed hard and closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head at her. "I always knew you had a thing for vanilla," he chuckled, opening his eyes as he gently ran his thumb across the bare skin of her back where her shirt had risen up.

She shivered at his touch and shook her head slightly. "There is nothing about you that's vanilla, baby. It's all white chocolate." She pulled away and looked up ay him with a soft, flirty smile playing upon her lips. "You can kiss me now."

His eyes darkened at her words and it was his turn to shiver. "So bossy ..." He smirked and brought a hand to her chin to tilt it upward. Her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation and the image of her caused a lump to form in his throat. She was blissfully unaware of the thoughts racing through his head, and it killed him to know what he was about to do.

He squeezed his eyes shut in a last ditch effort to keep the thoughts at bay for just a few moments longer, and pressed his lips to hers softly. Despite the not-completely-pure thoughts that had been running through his mind for the past few minutes, he _had_intended for it to be a sweet kiss. They were standing on her front steps, which meant that her mother and (more importantly) her father were only a closed front door away, but as he felt her tongue brush his lips the kiss took on a sense of urgency he couldn't control. Suddenly he could not get close enough to her, and before he could remind himself to calm down he was pushing her up against the wall next to the door. The hand that was still at her waist clung to her tightly while the other moved to her hair, and his tongue met hers with a frantic intensity neither one of them had ever experienced. His lips hungrily moved against hers, as if the taste of her had caused a frenzy within him. There were so many things he needed to say; instead he chose to pour every thought running through his head into the kiss.

How was he going to tell her? He'd put it off until the very last moment, and now there was no more time. He was literally on the clock. But he just had to do it. Do it and get it over with, no matter what the repercussions were. He owed her that much.

The soft sighs escaping her lips were sounds that he could have listened to for hours, but as their kisses slowly changed from feverish back to sweet, he knew it was time. Darkness had officially fallen, and the minutes were ticking away.

He pulled away, and sighed, breathing heavily. "I need to tell you something," he choked out, never opening his eyes. "It can't wait any longer."

"Sam?" There was confusion in her voice, the blissful kind of confusion that comes after a kiss as mind-blowing as theirs had been. "What is it?" She was breathless and he could feel the heat from her body suddenly disappear as she leaned against the wall so that she could stand up right.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. Her eyes were glassy, and her face was flushed with lips parted in a way that made him fight the urge to capture and claim them as his once more.

"I ... I ... I don't know how to tell you this, Mercedes. But ..."

She stepped away from the wall and touched his arm, obviously concerned.

He paused and swallowed hard, averting his eyes from her gaze. "My dad ... He, um ... He ... Damn it."

"Is he ok? What is it?"

"He found a job."

"Sam! That's great! Wher—"

"We have to move." He hated interrupting her, but he couldn't stand to hear the excitement in her voice.

He met her gaze again briefly, just in time to see her face fall and a mix of emotions that he couldn't distinguish flash in her eyes. She took a step back from him and brought a hand to her forehead. "What? I don't ... What?"

Fuck. This was torture.

"We're moving. To Kentucky. He couldn't find anything here." He hung his head and scuffed at the ground with the toe of his Chucks and chuckled bitterly. "Just my luck, right? Something good finally happens to my family and I have the leave the best thing that's happened to me since ... Ever."

"When?" Her breathing was starting to get shallow, and he could see that she was trying hard to hold herself together.

He was such an asshole. What he was about to say would only prove the point further.

"Tomorrow."

It was then that their eyes finally locked onto each other's, and though the anger was something Sam had prepared himself for, it was deeper than he could have imagined. There was a layer of hurt there, one that could only stem from betrayal. No one had ever looked at him like that before; he had never done anything bad enough to deserve that look. He fought the urge to turn away from her, but he knew that would only make her pain worse. He'd already done enough.

"How long have you known?"

He was silent for several painful seconds before replying. That was the kicker. "Two weeks."

"You lied to me."

He looked at her pleadingly. "I didn't mean to, I swear. I just ... I didn't know how to tell you, Mercy. I kept hoping that maybe there'd be some other way ... Some other job offer or _something._But nothing ever came and—"

Mercedes held up a hand and the sight of it was as jarring at as a punch to his stomach. "I asked you two days ago how the job search was going. You could have told me then. Or the _week_ before that. But you consciously chose to lie to me." Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head. "And you tell me now? After the amazing day we just had? You tell me now, and expect me to just say goodbye and walk away like my heart doesn't feel like its being torn out of my body? I knew you were a lot of things Sam, but I never, _ever_thought you could be this cruel."

He reached out to grab her hand, and his eyes began to water when she snatched it away. "But don't you see? Telling you earlier would have been even worse. Our lives would have turned into one big count down and every night would have been like this." He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes. "I didn't want that for us. I didn't want to live on borrowed time. I wanted to spend every possible moment we had left together being like we've been all summer: happy."

Ripping off a band-aid quickly was less painful than peeling it slowly. That's what he had been telling himself for these past two weeks. The wound would still be there either way, and it would still scar, but maybe the sting would fade quicker this way. It was his philosophy and he had been prepared to stand by it until the end. But now that he was in the moment, Sam realized that this was quite possibly the biggest mistake he had ever made.

"Well, congratulations. It worked. You can sleep better tonight knowing you got what you wanted. But what about me, Sam? What about _me_?" Her arms were wrapped around her body in a protective stance, and tears were flowing down her cheeks. It was all he could do to not wrap her in an iron grip and stay with her until he physically had to be pulled away. "You get to go start a new life while I'm stuck here, alone, just spinning my wheels. And all I'm going to remember about this summer is this moment." She hung her head, unable to stand looking at him any longer.

"I'm sorry, Mercy. I'm so sorry ... I never meant for it to be like this. The last thing I ever wanted to do was make you feel this way. I ju—I just didn't know what else to do." His voice cracked and suddenly his face the wet, shining with tears that he hadn't even realized were falling. He tried to catch her gaze once again, and when she refused to look at him the tears fell harder. He had never felt this helpless before.

"Please, Mercy. Look at me. Please?"

Her voice was nearly inaudible. "I can't."

Her words wounded him more than anything else ever had before. He could take a thousand punches from any of the jerks on the football team and he would still hurt less. Knowing that he had no one to blame for their pain but himself only made him feel worse.

"Okay, okay …" He hung his head in defeat. "Please just know that this ... You and I ... It was real for me. Every day being with you has been like, like ... Seeing Pandora for the first time; it takes my breath away. I was in a dark place for so long and you ... You were the light that helped me find my way again."

"Please don't say things like that to me, Sam. Please just go."

He sighed, but nodded. This was for the best. She didn't deserve to be tied down in a long distance relationship with a guy who didn't even have a house to live in. And maybe if she was angry at him she wouldn't have time to be sad. He knew even as the thought crossed his mind that it was ridiculous, but he had to believe something or else he'd never leave.

"Okay, I'll go. But you have to know, Mercy ... You _have_to know... I love you. Distance isn't going to change that." It was the first time he'd said those words to anyone, and the moment was not at all like he'd imagined it would be. He should have told her sooner, weeks ago when he first realized it, but he had been too scared. And now it was too late. "I'm not going to give up on us. Some day …We'll have our time." Before she could stop him he wrapped her up in a tight hug, kissing the top of her head softly. She struggled and tried to pull away from him, but he kept his grip firm, holding her for until she stilled. His tears fell into her hair, and he could feel hers begin to dampen the front of his shirt. He breathed in the scent of her hair one last time and gave her a long squeeze before releasing her and walking down the driveway and out of her life.

"I hope one day you can forgive me ... _Makto zong_, Mercy."

The only reply he got in return was the sound of her quiet sobs echoing in the wind.

_Summer is over_

_We were tangled in the morning sun_

_Felt you getting colder_

_And we knew that we would come undone_

_It's back to my town, back to your life_

_Gray skies are blowing a kiss goodbye to the lovers_

_Summer is over_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> **Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the wonderful feedback. It means a lot. :) I know I said that things would not always be so angsty, and that's still true, but I had to get this chapter out of the way. Things will get better soon, I promise.**

**For this chapter, I felt like keeping with the style of Glee and doing a mash up. The first song used is "Summer Love" by Justin Timberlake, and the second is "Summer Is Over" by the fabulous Jon McLaughlin.**

**Na'vi translation: Take care**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

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><p><strong>Chapter Four: I Don't Ever Give Up <strong>

_I'm no kid in a kid's game_

_I did what I did, I've got no one to blame_

_But I don't give up, no, I don't ever give up_

_It's all I've got, it's my claim to fame_

_I'm no fighter but I'm fighting_

_This whole world seems uninviting_

_But I don't give up, no, I don't ever give up_

_I fall down sometimes, sometimes I come back flying_

Sam had only tried to communicate with Mercedes once in the months since he had left Lima. The images from the night he had left her crying on her front steps replayed in his mind on a continuous loop for weeks afterwards, and for her sake he kept his distance. He even went so far as to delete his Facebook profile so that he wouldn't be tempted to keep up with her life or torture himself by looking at her pictures. His first few days in Kentucky had been the worst. Sleepless and full of agony, it was as if a piece of him had been left behind, lost under his cot in that motel room he and his family had come to know as home. He'd managed to keep his head up and continue playing the role of the perfect son and brother, but it was clear to everyone that the Sam who had come to Kentucky was not the same Sam they had known for the past eighteen years. He had an excellent game face, but there was a vacancy in his eyes that had never been there before.

His mother, bless her heart, had always been an expert at reading her eldest son. Ever since he was a toddler, white-haired with eyes like little emerald saucers, he had been one to move at his own pace. Within the playgroup they went to every week he had been the last of the children to learn how to walk, but the first one who tried to climb the jungle gym; the most shy around the little girls, but the only boy who would pick them dandelions once he got to know them. From the beginning he had always marched to the beat of his own drum, and everyone else around just had to match his tempo and try to keep up. When his relationship with Quinn had dissolved quicker than anyone could have predicted, Mary Evans been right there to hold him as he spoke over and over again of his insecurities over not being good enough for the head cheerleader. With Santana, she had sat him down and gave him a stern lecture about how he needed to stop jumping in headfirst into relationships and start "respecting himself."

This time, however, it had been different. Everything about his relationship with Mercedes had been a completely new experience for him. The joys of being with her were so much greater than anything he'd felt before, and in turn the pain of their demise was nearly unbearable. Every other hurt paled in comparison, and it was clear that the usual remedies for a broken heart wouldn't be sufficient. Instead of setting this recovery to a tempo that had been previously used, his mother seemed to sense that what he needed was a slow, steady beat that was similar to a march. It may not have been exciting, but it was consistent and would eventually get him to where he needed to be. The progress would be slow, but it would be the best way for him to attempt to heal. With that in mind, she'd supported him in the best way that she knew how: lingering hugs, whispered words of encouragement, and lots of chocolate chip cookies. They never talked about Mercedes, or the bloodshot eyes he sported for weeks after the move, but her actions helped him more than any conversation ever could.

His father, though fully aware that his son was dealing with something devastating, had been too busy with his new construction job to make him sit down for a heart to heart. Other sons may have felt neglected, but this was something Sam had been grateful for. In some ways, he was exactly like his father. They shared similar physical features, which was to be expected, but also similar quirks. Dwight Evans had passed down a love for science fiction and fantasy as well as sports that both of his sons shared, and his tendencies to wear his heart on his sleeve and take on too much to Sam in particular. The most prominent similarity, though, was the fact that both of the older Evans men were dreamers. The recession had really kicked them all around. His dad had been especially wounded, but that never kept him from speaking of the future, of the plans for their family when they came through to the other side.

It was because of core trait they shared that Sam knew if they had sat down his father would have been able to get every last detail about what had happened with Mercedes out of him. In the same way that his mother was laid-back, his father was high-strung. Somehow he would have managed to sort through the pain and convince his son to make things right with Mercedes He would have insisted on it.

Not that it would have taken much to persuade Sam to reach out to her; he fought daily with himself, debating about whether or not he should just drive back to Lima and apologize to her for leaving the way he did, and beg her to wait for him. But he knew it wouldn't be fair to her if he asked. He couldn't expect her to have a long distance relationship with a homeless kid during her senior year. He couldn't bring himself to be that selfish. Not with her.

That was the logical part of him talking, but the other part? The part that was so dominating that it literally hurt to ignore? Ached to do exactly that and fight for them both.

Sam shook his head as he walked through the back door of Stallionz. It had been exactly a week to the day since Quinn had called him, and Mercedes had been on his mind as constantly as she was when he first moved. He'd even gone so far as to text Quinn and ask her to give him Mercedes' number, but deleted the text before he could send it. Nothing he could say would matter, because the simple fact was that she was still there and he was still here. Circumstances hadn't changed, so there was no point in opening up a line of communication that had no way of leading to where he wanted to be: back with her. By all accounts her life was going perfectly, and he wasn't about to open his mouth and ruin it for her by drawing himself into her life picture.

He snorted to himself as he walked inside and made his way to the dressing room. He didn't really have to worry about all that though, seeing as how the chances were great that Mercedes still hated him for what he had done to her that night. Who could blame her?

His one attempt at reaching out to her had resulted in two words that still haunted him. It had all started back in August, over a month after he'd left and shortly after he began working at the bar. The shows that night had wrapped up and he had been in the process of heading to the bathroom to change back into his street clothes when a leggy waitress who'd taken to undressing him with her eyes far more than he was comfortable with cornered him outside of the bathroom.

_"Hey, White Chocolate," she purred softly, placing a well manicured hand on his chest. "Where are ya off too in such a hurry?" Her touch made him shiver. Her hands were ice cold and her fingers almost skeletal._

_He averted his eyes from her predatory stare and cleared his throat. "Uh, just headed to the bathroom. To change." He shifted his weight awkwardly and clutched his clothes closer to his bare chest. The red shorts that he graced the stage with were one step up from the infamous gold ones from his McKinley days, but not by much. He was keenly aware of how little was left to the imagination, and apparently she was as well._

_The blonde giggled throatily and ran a finger down his chest, scraping him lightly. "You know ... They call 'em dressing rooms for a reason. You don't have to be shy." His stomach lurched as she let her gaze travel down his body, stopping as her eyes settled on the bulge in the front of his shorts, a coy smirk playing across her blood red lips. "Not from what I can see."_

_He felt a rush of heat spread from his cheeks to the tops of his ears. "Uh, thanks. I think?" He had been working there nearly a three weeks and was starting to think he'd never get used to the leers. The fifteen year-old version of himself would have loved the prospect of female advances, but it only made the current version nauseous._

_"You're very welcome." She licked her lips and continued running her finger down his body until it hit the waistband of his shorts. "Can I help you with anything? Anything at all?" It was clear by the tone of her voice that she intended to help him in a very specific way._

_He flinched as he felt the finger dip underneath the fabric and took a step back, but she stepped with him. "That's very, um, nice of you to ask, but I don't think so." She snapped the elastic of his shorts and he took another step back, bumping against the wall, which caused him to drop his pile of clothes on the floor. Before he could move to pick them up, she'd beat him to it, making sure to bend just enough to give him an obvious view of her cleavage. He grimaced as she picked up his Batman print boxers and twirled them around on her finger._

_"Batman huh?" She licked her lips and pressed herself against him, grinding slowly. Her other hand went to his hair as she brought her lips to his ear. Her breath was hot as she spoke. "Come on, White Chocolate. Let me show you what kind of tricks Cat Woman has up her sleeve ... I'll have you purring in no time." Her tongue flicked against his ear and it was then that he'd had enough. She was anything but Cat Woman._

_Grunting, he snatched his boxers from her finger and moved away from her quickly. This had to stop. "Listen, I don't know what you've heard about me, but I'm not that guy." He bent down and grabbed the rest of his clothes._

_"But White Chocolate, baby—"_

_His eyes flashed. It was one thing for Jimmy or the other guys to call him that. But no woman would ever do it again._

_"Let's get a couple things straight here. One, my name is Sam. Not 'Baby' or 'White Chocolate' or any other demeaning pet name you want to call me. And two, I'm here to make money, and that's it. I'm not interested in being anyone's play-thing." _

_If he hadn't been so pissed off, he would have laughed at the way her mouth had become unhinged as she openly gaped at him._

_"So take your daddy issues and get the hell outta my face." He brushed past her and into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him._

_"Asshole!"_

Sam cringed at the memory. After the incident, the waitress (he couldn't even remember her name) had immediately spread a rumor that he was gay, but nothing ever came of it. She'd quit shortly thereafter, and he'd been relieved. He had never felt more ashamed to be working at Stallionz than he had that night. The rest of the waitresses actually weren't too bad, for the most part. Every so often a new one would try the same thing, and every time he'd turn them down. He was no saint; he had a couple of girls at school he made out with from time to time when he really needed to get his mind off things, but things never went any farther than kissing and they were never with anyone at work. He knew better than to do anything that could potentially jeopardize his paycheck and more than that, he knew that the dirty feeling that often plagued him would only get worse if he wasn't careful. He'd made that mistake last year with Santana, going further than he was comfortable with just because the opportunity had been presented, and he didn't feel like going back.

The memory of Santana made him again think of the leggy blonde and he grunted. He still got irritated every time he thought of her bringing up Cat Woman to him. That title belonged to one person and one person only, whether she wanted it or not.

It was that incident that had prompted his one and only attempt at making amends with Mercedes. Angered by the events of the night, he'd started sketching immediately after he'd gotten home from work. He'd played around with little doodles of himself as Batman and Mercedes as Cat Woman before, but that time he actually sketched them for real, down to the last details. By the time the sun had begun to peek over the horizon the next morning, he'd competed an entire comic strip of the two of them.

It hadn't been anything spectacular, at least not in his mind. And to anyone else it would have seemed ridiculous, but he had hoped Mercedes would see it and smile. The strip had consisted of them, in full costume, in various scenes that had taken place throughout their brief summer together: eating ice cream at the park, playing like kids with Stacy and Stevie at the playground near her house, playing frisbee on the beach, cuddling together on the tilt-a-whirl ... He knew it was silly, but maybe it could be the olive branch they could eventually rebuild a friendship with. He'd said that much in the note he'd mailed along with it.

Sam felt his heart clench at the memory of his phone call with Quinn the week after he'd sent it. It hurt her to tell him this, Quinn had said, but although Mercedes had appreciated the comic, she and Sam were "so June" and she thought it was time to them both to move forward, separately. Quinn had tried to convince him that she just needed a little more time to heal, but his decision was already made: he'd bow out graciously and no longer contact her. It was then that he'd laid the ground rules to Quinn regarding their conversations: Mercedes' name would only come up in their conversations if it absolutely had to.

Up until their last conversation, things had been fine. Now he was being forced to deal with a reality he hadn't fully prepared himself for.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes as he walked into the dressing room and shoved his stuff into his usual corner. He had to get over this, or at least place it on the back burner for awhile. The first show of the afternoon would be starting in less than an hour and he had to keep his focus. There was nothing that killed the buzz of a horny middle-aged woman like a depressed stripper. It was like seeing a sad clown.

"Hey, Sam. Why the long face? We've got a packed house tonight!" A familiar voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned to see his favorite waitress Jeanie leaning again the doorframe, looking at him warmly, but with a touch of concern that made him think that she'd been watching him sulk for awhile.

He gave a small wave and half-smiled at her before turning back to his corner. "Hey, Jeanie. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you." There was a pause and Sam could feel her eyes staring at the back of his head. He didn't know if it was because she had been a teacher or because she was a mom, but the woman had a crazy way of being able to read him like a book. "Now answer the question, honey. I may not know you all that well, but I know you enough to realize when you're feeling down."

He turned back to her and smirked, quirking an eyebrow. "How do you figure? All I said was hi." Thanks to his father, he had never been very good at hiding his emotions, but it was still surprising that she could always sense when he was having a bad day.

"Oh please!" Jeanie chuckled and waved a hand at him. "First of all, I could hear the tires on that old truck of yours squealing when you raced into the lot. We both know that old thing isn't meant to move like that! And then you came stomping in the back door, and you only do that when you've had a rough day, and since today is Saturday, I know it isn't school related. Lastly, and most importantly, you didn't come to the kitchen and say hi. That has never happened before. So now I'm going to ask you _again _: why the long face?"

Well, damn. Clearly not much got by Jeanie unnoticed.

He chuckled. "I swear you are just as bad as my own mom sometimes." He smiled wryly at her and waited for her to laugh along with him, but instead she merely raised her eyebrows expectantly and motioned for him to get on with it.

"Honey, we've got a show in 40 minutes."

"Fine, fine ... It's been a rough day, I guess. A rough week, actually. I've just got a lot on my mind lately. My girl—well, ex-girlfriend—"

"Mercedes."

"Yeah. Mercedes." He'd almost forgotten that Jeanie had found a sketch he'd drawn of Mercedes that had fallen out of his notebook not that long ago. She'd been helping him with his history homework and picked up the scrap of paper before he could get to it. He hadn't gone into too much detail about Mercedes at the time, trying to avoid re-living their whole summer together, but clearly Jeanie had found what he had had to say important enough to remember her name. "Anyway, she has a boyfriend now, I guess, and I'm just ... Trying to work out the whole acceptance thing."

"Ahh. I see."

"I'd been making a lot of progress, but-"

"You still care about her."

Was it that obvious? "Well ... Yeah, but there's not really anything I can do. She's there and I'm here so ... I'm out of the equation."

"Well, why don't you make yourself a part of the equation? You used to live in Lima, right? That's not all that far from here. Four hours, maybe? Go take a drive." She said it as if her suggestion was the most logical action for him to take. "Go get her."

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "You're not the first person to tell me that, actually. But I can't. We both need to move on. This is for the best." Those last five words had become his mantra over the past seven days; yet once they left his mouth they still made him scrunch his nose as if he'd tasted something bitter.

Jeanie looked at him, amused, and smiled. "Keep telling yourself that, honey." She chuckled and straightened her apron. "I have to get back to the kitchen, but let me know if you ever want to borrow my car and take a road trip. Lord knows that truck of yours wouldn't make it to the border."

He laughed as she walked away. "Don't you have your own kids to pester?"

"My own kids know well enough to take my advice when I give it!"

Well then.

He groaned softly to himself and glanced at his backpack, once again fighting the urge to take his phone out and text Quinn. As he again reminded himself to focus, he quickly dropped to the floor to do his usual pre-show push-ups, hoping the familiar ache of sore muscles would clear his head.

"Face it Evans. It's gonna take a miracle to get her back."

* * *

><p><em>Several Hours Later <em>

"It's gonna take a miracle for us to win at sectionals, Sam. And you're it. We need you."

It was 6 o'clock that night; the first of early evening strip shows were over, and Sam found himself sitting in the dressing room with the last two people on earth he expected to show up unannounced at Stallionz. He'd done them the favor of getting re-dressed in his clothes from that afternoon, but that didn't stop them both from looking like they'd seen a ghost. Inwardly, he laughed to himself, because he was sure their confusion was mirrored on his own face.

"Look, Finn ... Rachel ... It's not that I'm not happy to see you guys, but I don't understand. How did you even know where to find me?"

Finn's look immediately changed to the same constipated one that Sam had seen a lot of last year during the time of the whole gumball fiasco. That meant that he wasn't going to like whatever answer he was about to give.

"Quinn."

He nearly spat out the water he'd been drinking and leaned forward in his chair. "What?"

That little traitor.

"Quinn. She told me that you worked at some restaurant with a horse name or something. And before you deleted your Facebook we all noticed that you'd changed your current location to Kentucky. So Rachel put two and two together and googled it, and here we are. We thought you were a waiter."

There was a smirk spreading across Finn's face, and Sam decided it would be best to ignore that last comment. "So Quinn sent you here to bring me back for sectionals, huh? What makes you think that I can help you?"

Rachel placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "We need you, Sam. We're falling apart. I know we all haven't done a good job at keeping in touch, but the fact is that glee club hasn't been the same since you left. We all miss you."

"Look, I appreciate you guys thinking of me, and if things were different maybe coming back would be an option, but not right now. Do you know how much I made tonight? 60 bucks." He grinned and pulled the dollar Rachel had handed him earlier out from under the waistband of his shorts that he still wore underneath his jeans. "61. In 15 minutes. And that's only one show. Am I ashamed to be working here? Yeah, I'm ashamed. But I'm good at this."

He thought he saw Rachel's lower lip tremble. "That's because you have that boy next door innocence that makes you approachable, okay? You're good at it for all the reasons you shouldn't be doing it."

"Come back to McKinley, Sam. We _need_ you."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Finn cut him off, speaking again. "Tell me you don't want it. Dude, you're young. You've got so much potential. Working here is like throwing your life away."

Sam cringed. Like he didn't know that already. He appreciated their concern, but the facts remained the same. His family was still a long way from being financially secure, if he bailed on them now they were one broken water pipe away from being out on the street again.

"There isn't anything left in Lima for for me anymore." He was grasping for excuses now, trying to ignore the growing desire to take them up on their offer.

"C'mon dude. Real talk."

Groaning, his put his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. "Okay! I want it. I do ... But I owe it to my family to stay."

He felt a small hand on his shoulder and knew it was Rachel. "But you owe it to yourself to fight for the life that you deserve to live. To fight for the person you want to live it with. You can't give up now."

What was with everyone telling him to fight for a girl who didn't love him? A girl who had a boyfriend and who, by all accounts, was doing just fine without him? Sam knew that he still loved Mercedes; he remembered the words he had said the night he left. But all the signs kept saying that this still wasn't the right time for them. Maybe messing with fate just wasn't a good idea.

He looked up and opened his mouth to tell Rachel exactly that, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the way that her eyes bore into him in a way that made him feel like she could see each and every thought running through his head. Or maybe it was the passion within those eyes; something that he remembered seeing rarely, only when she spoke about one of two things: Finn or her desire to become a star. Was it really possible that she felt just as strongly about his relationship with Mercedes as Quinn did? How the hell did she even know about them anyway?

Sam was at a loss for a worthwhile response. He shrugged his shoulders lamely. "My dad would never go for it." It was a bald-faced lie, but he still wasn't completely convinced that going back to Lima was a good idea. "And besides ... It's not really my place to get involved in certain peoples' lives anymore."

Finn's expression changed from one of apprehension to one of excitement, as if the light bulb had been turned on inside his head. "Quinn thought you'd be hesitant. She asked me to tell you something ..." He paused and looked down at the floor, shifting his weight awkwardly for a moment.

"Yeah ...?" Sam prompted. Of _course_ Quinn had something to say. She'd been the one responsible for this entire sneak attack.

Finn smirked slightly. "She said to tell you that you're a _skxawng _if you don't realize that this might be the only opportunity you have to make things right. She also told me to remind you that Jake once said ..." he held up his hands to use air quotes. "'All I ever wanted was a single thing worth fighting for' and that 'sometimes your whole life boils down to one insane move' ... Does that mean anything to you? She said you'd make sense of it."

Sam's jaw dropped slightly, and his eyes widened upon hearing the words.

Somehow she'd managed to use Jake Sully against him.

Damn.

For someone who came across as being so sweet, Quinn Fabray was a certified ball buster. But he had to give it to her. Her plan was about to work.

"Oh, what the hell. Fine. We'll go talk to my dad."

_Liars are lying, airplanes are flying_

_Love isn't here, love isn't here_

_But it's somewhere_

_Time to forget me, but something won't let me_

_Love isn't here, love isn't here_

_But it's somewhere  
><em>

_And I cleaned and I washed up_

_This dream I don't ever give up_

_I don't ever give up, I don't ever give up_

_No, I don't ever give up, no, I don't ever give up_

_No, I don't ever give up, I don't ever give up_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Once again, thank you to everyone for the commentsfavorites/etc. I started writing this to get through the hiatus and get the story out of my head, so it is very encouraging to know that other people are enjoying something I never thought would get read. This is step one in moving (somewhat) away from the angst. **

**The song used in this chapter is "I Don't Ever Give Up" by Patty Griffin. Some of the dialogue used at the end comes directly from "Hold On To Sixteen" and belongs to Glee, and the Jake Sully quotes at the end are from Avatar and don't belong to me either. :) **

**Na'vi translation: Moron**


	5. Chapter 5

****Disclaimer: I own nothing****

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Use Me Up<strong>

_The Next Day_

"Next stop: Lima, Ohioooooo!"

Sam rolled his eyes at Finn's over-exaggerated rock star voice, but couldn't stop the grin from spreading across his face when his friend gunned the engine of his truck and began to speed down the open road.

It was finally happening. It was time to go get his girl back. He knew it wasn't going to be a walk in the park, but now that things were being put into motion, it was clearer than ever to him that this was the right thing. You never got anywhere in life by playing it safe, and even if this ended in disaster, he had to try.

Like Sam had expected, he hadn't had to say much to convince his parents to let him return to Lima with Finn and Rachel. Initially, there was a slight hesitation from both of them; mostly because they knew that there was more to him wanting to go back other than merely helping out the glee club. When they'd pressed him on the issue, he broke down and confessed that he thought that this might be his only chance to make things right with Mercedes. The mention of her name had peaked both of their interests, and it was then that he knew it was only a matter of time before they gave him their blessing. His parents had been high school sweethearts themselves, and it had been obvious that the time he and Mercedes had spent with his family had brought back memories of their own summers together.

"I know it probably sounds crazy," he'd said with a goofy half-smile, remembering how many times he'd professed his love for a girl to them only to have it blow up in this face. "But with her, it has always been about something deeper than puppy love. Leaving her was devastating to me."

"Oh honey." Tears had started to pool in his mother's eyes, and though he'd never intended to be the cause of them, they were the encouragement he needed to keep speaking.

"If you guys don't want me to go, I won't go. This family: you guys and Stacy and Stevie, are my number one priority," he had said earnestly. "But I have to make things right with Mercedes. If I don't do this now ... I really think I might lose her for good."

His mother had smiled wistfully and nodded before she'd reached across the table to touch her hand to his cheek. "I know how unhappy you've been here, Sammy. We tried to help you the best ways we knew how, but ... I am _so_sorry if it wasn't enough."

"It was more than enough, Mom. You two—If it hadn't been for you guys, your support and your love, I would never have had the courage to ask you what I'm asking you now."

"She's important to you."

He'd shaken his head and grasped the wrist of the hand that was touching his face. "No, Mom. She's _everything_ to me. I know I'm young and I know I have a history of jumping into things headfirst, but I have analyzed and obsessed and thought and rethought this over every day for each of the 163 days that I've been gone. There is no getting over Mercedes Jones. I know, deep in my gut, that she is _it_for me. Now I have to convince her of that."

As he'd looked, never wavering, into his mother's eyes a tear that had been pooling there slipped down her cheek. The old Sam from the summer would have stammered or looked away in embarrassment at having poured his heart out to his parents, but the Sam he was now had the confidence of a man who had nothing left to lose. Six months ago he'd been too scared to tell Mercedes that he loved her, too scared to even fully admit it to himself. But now he'd shout it from the rooftops for anyone to hear. Batman didn't sit around and let life kick his ass; he fought back. He had stewed about his situation long enough; now Sam was bound and determined to become the Bruce Wayne Mercedes had once pictured him to be.

"Baby. What are you still doing here?" She'd smiled at him like he was the best son on earth. "Go to her, honey. You've had to grow up so fast ... Now it's your turn to make your life the way you want it to be."

He had been unable to contain the cheer that escaped his mouth as he jumped from the table to grab her in a hug that lifted her off the ground. His father's long arms had wrapped around them both, and they shared in a group hug that could have only been made better if two small sets of arms had been encircling their legs.

"Thank you." He had repeated the words over and over again, feeling an excitement for life at that moment that he hadn't had since that dark June day.

With those words, he'd managed to pack all of his things (the important ones anyway) into two duffle bags and a backpack. The goodbyes he shared with his family were short and sweet, and the proud looks his father kept shooting him were further encouragement that he was doing the right thing. His heart hurt when he hugged Stacy and Stevie goodbye after they'd arrived home from a friends house, but he knew that the temporary pain of him going away would be worth it to them in the end if he returned as someone more himself than the shell of a person who had been living with them for the past six months. And if Mercedes was in tow then it would be even better.

After he'd said goodbye to his family, it had been time to stop at Stallionz to (figuratively) turn in his little red shorts. He knew leaving would be difficult because the bar had, in a weird sort of way, become his home away from home. However, he never expected it to be harder to say goodbye to Jimmy and Jeanie than his own family. In the end he'd actually shed a couple of crocodile tears when he broke the news to them. Though his news hadn't been a surprise to them after the events of the previous night, they both seemed sad to see him leave. Yet despite their sadness, they were both supportive of his decision, especially Jeanie. She'd demanded that when he came back in two weeks for Christmas break that he come by the bar and fill her in on everything that happened once he got back to Lima. He'd promised to do exactly that, as well as to keep up with his grades and to call her if he needed anything.

He chucked softly to himself as he recalled her pointing a threatening finger at him as she'd made him promise to submit the college applications they'd been working on before the December 31st deadlines. Once a mother, always a mother.

Saying goodbye to Jimmy had been even more of a challenge, simply because Sam had been at a loss for words at how to adequately thank the man who had helped him keep his family off of the streets. After he had struggled for several painful moments to get the words out, the older man had simply wrapped him in a bear hug, saying that it had been his pleasure to hire him, and that Sam was one of the best workers he'd ever had. When Sam tried to apologize for leaving on such short notice and promised to come back and work on weekends when he could, Jimmy merely replied, "You were always too good for this place, kid. You can come back and visit, but I don't ever want to see you on that stage again." With those words, he'd hugged Sam again and showed him to the door.

Sam furrowed his brow thoughtfully as they drove through the flat landscape of northern Kentucky. He would miss the bar, but if he never had to strip for money or hear "Party Rock Anthem" again, it would still be too soon. But maybe he could come back and play his guitar ...

He tried to focus on his new idea, and the excitement of being back in the same city as Mercedes again, but it was hard to focus on anything other than Rachel's incessant chatter. Sam had always loved driving, mostly because he got his best thinking done as he drove aimlessly, but the girl was making him seriously think about riding in the back of Finn's truck with his bags rather than up front with them.

He and Rachel had never been close, and while he never really expected that to change, he had always respected her determination to be the best every time she opened her mouth to sing. She may not have fit with his musical tastes, but there was no denying her talent, or her passion. Furthermore, she had been the one to suggest the three way date to their junior prom with Mercedes, and for that he would always hold her in high regard. Though he and Mercedes had been at the cusp of something deeper than friendship prior to the prom, it was that night that really gave him the encouragement he had needed to let her into his world, completely without hesitation. The minute she had opened her front door and smiled at him, he had been gone. So, although he was thankful for Rachel for setting things in motion, it didn't make listening to her give the rundown of every last detail that had taken place since his departure any less torturous.

"And that was when Mercedes left the glee club. Personally, I think Shane had a lot to do with it but—"

Those words caught his attention. "Wait. Who?"

Rachel and Finn exchanged a look.

"Shane. Her boyfriend." A guilty look passed over her features and she looked down, seemingly embarrassed. "I thought you knew ..."

"No, I knew," Sam reassured her quickly, waving a hand. "I guess I'd just never heard his name before." He was silent as he contemplated his next move. He didn't really want to talk about Mercedes' new boyfriend, but if the guy was an obstacle standing in between them, then he had to find out whatever he could. Know your opponent, right? It was an essential part of forming a strategy for any situation.

"So what's he like? This Shane guy. He's not in glee club is he?"

Finn chuckled and shook his head. "No dude. Shane wouldn't be caught dead in glee. He's a real man's man when it comes to that kinda stuff."

Sam scrunched his nose and gave Finn a sideways glance. "So what does that make us? Pussies?"

It was Rachel's turn to make a face. She opened her mouth to chastise him for his offensive word, but Finn spoke before she could get a chance.

"C'mon man, you know what I mean. Shane is just all about being a jock. He's an all-state linebacker with a full ride to Ohio State who lives to pummel guys out on the field. Singing and dancing aren't exactly things he does in his free time."

Sam knew the sour look was still on his face, but he couldn't help it. "Just curious, that's all."

"That's pretty much all I know about him. He came in at the beginning of the year as a transfer and he strictly hangs out with the rest of the defensive line and Mercedes. We talked during football season, but we don't have any classes together so that kinda stopped once the season was over."

"Mercy—I mean ... Mercedes doesn't bring him around?"

It was Rachel's turn to speak up. "We don't see much of Mercedes anymore. Not lately anyway. She's very devoted to the Troubletones. Which brings me back to sectionals. Now Sam, I know that dancing was never your strong point, but after seeing you last night ..."

Realizing that he wasn't going to like the change in the conversations direction, Sam decided to tune her out as he continued to stare straight ahead, nodding periodically so she would think he was paying attention. This hadn't exactly been the news he'd been hoping for. He'd expected Finn and Rachel to provide extensive details about Mercedes' relationship, to the point where he'd have to ask them to stop. After all, everyone in glee club was always up in each others' business all the time, or at least that's how it had been last year. Everyone always seemed to know every sordid detail of everyone else's relationship. He hadn't expected them, especially Rachel, to offer him so little gossip.

The more he thought about it, he realized the details he had been given weren't very encouraging. Sam had known from the beginning of their friendship that he wasn't what anyone would consider Mercedes' usual type. Hell, people still probably thought he had a better chance with Kurt than with her. He hadn't seen her attached to anyone last year, but he knew that she'd gone out several times with Anthony Rashad. Also a broad football player. Also not as white as snow. Also with a normal-sized mouth.

He grunted softly to himself, still nodding in time to the beat of the song playing on the radio as Rachel spoke. The insecurity that had initially plagued him before he and Mercedes had first started dating was starting to rear its ugly head again. It wasn't logical, but he couldn't help it. She had always kind of intimidated him, both with her undeniable beauty and her confidence. When he first joined glee club, he hadn't gotten up the nerve to speak to her for several days. It wasn't until after he and Quinn had won the duets competition that he'd managed to muster up the courage to finally walk over to her locker between classes and tell her, quite honestly, that he thought that her and Santana's rendition of "River Deep, Mountain High" was the best thing he had ever heard.

_Sam grinned at the flush-faced girl standing before him. Why hadn't he realized how much a shorty she was? He'd have to stoop way down just to be eye level with her, but it was endearing._

_She smiled brightly up at him and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. "Well thank you! That's really nice of you to say." She pulled a few things out of her locker, one of which was a chemistry textbook. "You and Quinn were great too; it was the perfect song choice. You guys deserved to win." Turning back to him, she gave a quick wink. "Everyone loves a cute boy who can play a guitar." __  
><em>  
><em>He was pretty sure that somehow the vote had been rigged in their favor, but he didn't mention it, simply awed by the fact that the girl with the best voice in the club had enjoyed his performance. But wait … Had she just called him cute? "Aww, you're gonna make me blush, Miss Jones." He bowed his head, slightly self-conscious all of a sudden, and couldn't help but smile wider at her compliment. <em>

_She giggled softly and gave a look that was a cross between stern and playful. "Don't go tellin' people I said that though. I've a reputation to protect, you know."_

_He quickly nodded and held up three fingers. "I won't. Scouts honor." She giggled again and he felt an overwhelming desire to keep their conversation going. "Hey, since we're both headed to chemistry … How about I walk you to class?" He gnawed on his lower lip as he waited for her reaction. Hopefully she wouldn't find him too old fashioned. Going to an all boys school in Tennessee hadn't exactly been helpful in teaching him how to successfully navigate social situations with girls. _

_Clearly. Quinn had laughed in his face when he busted out the Na'vi talk in their first real interaction. That was a mistake he wouldn't be making again._

_To his surprise, she flashed a mega-watt smile and nodded. "Sure. You know, you could teach the guys here a thing or two about manners."_

_Before he could think up a witty response to yet another compliment his attention was captured by her grabbing another folder out of her locker. This girl was clearly someone worth getting to know. _

_"Do you ... Like Lord of the Rings?" he asked as they begin to walk down the hall together, taking great care to sound nonchalant. He glanced out of the corner of his eye just in time to see her blush again._

_"Oh, you saw my folder huh?" she asked as she chuckled softly. She moved her chemistry textbook to the bottom of the stack she carried and glanced down at the folder, which was a glossy picture of Frodo and Sam at the foot of Mount Doom. The picture mirrored a poster that he had on his bedroom wall at his family's new house in Lima. _

_He didn't speak right away, only smiling mischievously as he pulled out the thick paperback that was stuffed into the back pocket of his jeans, setting it on top of his own pile of books. "The Return of the King. We're reading it in my English class. Lucky for me this'll be my third time through. This time I decided to read it aloud to my brother every night before he goes to bed."_

_Immediately the blush disappeared and was replaced by expressions of excitement._

_"Oh my goodness, it's so good, right?" She let out a soft squeal, but he pretended not to notice how cute it was. "My older brother has been into sci-fi for as long as I can remember, and it seems to have rubbed off on me. I've read the books every summer for the past four, and don't even ask me how many times I've seen the movies." _

_Finally deciding to talk to Mercedes Jones was turning out to be the best idea he'd had in awhile. _

_"Wait, Mercedes. Stop. Turn and look at me." Once she noticed he was no longer walking with her, she stopped and did what he'd requested, though it was obvious by the look on her face that she was confused. _

_"What is it Sam?"_

_He bent his head down, just enough to be able to get a clear look at her face. Placing his free hand on her shoulder, he put on his best serious face. "Tell me, and be honest ... Do you watch the theatrical or the extended editions? This is critical information."_

_At that moment, as she laughed that big, unapologetic, musical laugh of hers, he decided that his new goal would be to get her to make that sound as much as he possibly could. _

_"Boy, what kind of question is that? Of course it's the extended editions!" She hip-checked him gently as they walked into the classroom, still laughing. "It'd be a damn shame to just watch the theatrical editions; you get so much more in the extended ones!"_

_"Mercedes, I think you and I are going to get along just fine." _

"How did you know?" His own voice interrupted his thoughts, as if something had just occurred to him (which it had). He turned to Rachel with what he knew was a quizzical look. "How did you know about Mercedes and me?"

She blushed and looked down at her hands. Her knee was bouncing in time to the beat of the song playing on the radio, something she hadn't been doing earlier. This only served to make him more curious.

"Rachel? How did you know?" He repeated, more insistently. "We never told anyone." That had been the agreement, anyway. Things had been brewing between them before the prom, but it wasn't until after they'd gotten home from New York that they'd decided to act on feelings that were growing too difficult to ignore.

"Quinn knew."

Sam snickered softly to himself and rolled his eyes, remembering how red-faced he'd been the Sunday at church when Stacy and Stevie had blurted out to Quinn how funny they'd thought it was when Sam had kissed away ice cream from Mercedes' lips the day before when they were at the park. Stacy had said that she wasn't sure if that was something Mercedes would need a cootie shot for, but that she should probably get one just to be safe. You could never be too careful.

"That's because my brother and sister narked on us." He cocked his head and stared at Rachel for a moment. There was something she wasn't telling him. "It's not like you to be so tongue-tied."

Her blush turned deeper and she looked to Finn for help. He shrugged, not taking his eyes off the road. She sighed at her boyfriend's reluctance to help her and shot him a smile. "I just knew, okay? I was with you guys at prom, remember?"

"We weren't anything other than friends then."

It was Rachel's turn to roll her eyes and scoff. "Oh, everyone saw the way you looked at her. You made her prom dreams come true, Sam. We all noticed."

Sam turned away from her, moving his gaze to the road ahead of them once again. "I guess I didn't realize it was so obvious. But why didn't you want to tell me that?"

"Well, prom was just the beginning. After that I started ... Noticing things."

"Things?" He turned back to her and cleared his throat. "Um what kinds of things?" At the time, he had thought that they'd been so careful. The whole reason they'd kept their relationship a secret from everyone was because they'd wanted to eliminate all the gossip that would be sure to follow if they'd been found out. But subtlety had never been a strong point for either of them, and looking back he could name off more than just a few instances where they could have blown their cover.

"Just to be clear, it's not like I was spying on you guys or anything. I'm just very observant." She smiled impishly at him and began ticking things off on her fingers.

"One: I've watched back our performances from Nationals exactly 127 times. Don't think for one second that I didn't notice you give Mercedes that hug after our last performance."

He shrugged. Okay, he could give her that. But it's not like he hadn't hugged Mike or Artie immediately afterwards too. Maybe he hadn't lifted either of them off the ground, but that was irrelevant.

"Two: Kurt and Blaine saw you two at the Lima Bean looking pretty cozy after we got back from New York."

He bit his lip and shrugged again. He should have known that Kurt hadn't bought the "we ran into each other in the parking lot story." The guy watched so many Broadway musicals that he could have handed Mercedes a napkin and he would have found some sort of hidden sexual tension in the action.

She raised an eyebrow at him and smirked, clearly enjoying herself. "Three: The weekend after summer vacation started Mercedes, Kurt, and I had a sleepover at her house. There was a Captain American t-shirt hanging over the chair of her desk." She didn't even bother to mention the implications of that one.

Well, shit.

"And just so you realize that all the evidence isn't circumstantial ... Four: Before prom, right after April Rhodes left, I saw you two in the auditorium together. It looked ... Intimate."

He turned, leaning his weight against the passenger side door and openly gaped at her. He hadn't expected that to be on her list. "Wait. You saw us in the auditorium? How?"

"Again, I can't stress enough that I wasn't spying on you guys. I was simply going there to practice, and when I walked in you two looked like you were in the middle of something important." She looked into his eyes, never blinking, and patted his knee. "I swear that I didn't eavesdrop; I left almost as soon as I walked in. But actions speak louder than words."

_Sam quietly shuffled into the eerily quiet auditorium, looking around to make sure that he was really alone. After casting a critical eye over the seats in the audience and checking behind the curtains, he made his way over to the piano, dropping his backpack in the middle of the stage in the process. To say the week had been hellish would have been an understatement. First with all the shit from the Muckraker and everyone in the whole school knowing he was living in a motel, and then with the chemistry test that at times had seemed to be written in gibberish. All he wanted to do was go home and play his guitar and sulk ... But since he no longer had a home and the walls of the motel were paper thin, that wasn't an option. He'd have to settle for the chilly auditorium and a piano._

_He took a seat and began to play random notes, trying to get a feel for the keys again. He had never been very comfortable playing the piano, despite taking lessons as a kid. He much preferred the guitar; the weight of the instrument in his arms, the freedom to move around, and the way the pads of his fingers ached after a long jam session, eventually turning calloused from long hours of playing. You didn't get that with a piano. Yet lately, in the quiet moments after school before he had to head over to his job at the pizza parlor, he'd been finding himself drawn to the instrument. A melody had been floating through his head constantly throughout the past few weeks, and it never sounded quite right when he attempted to play it on his guitar. It needed a simplicity that only the piano could offer._

_Eventually, the random notes his fingers played slowly turned into a tune. He really should have been doing homework with this chunk of free time, but he couldn't resist the urge to play the song all the way through. Just this once._

_Somebody let me down, Somebody show me love_  
><em>I wouldn't care much either way, I'd rather the sticks and stones <em>  
><em>Than dragging the ball and chain, Of "what if the world won't save me" <em>

_He closed his eyes, feeling a connection to his own words that he hadn't even felt while he was writing them. When the hell had things become so screwed up? One minute he had been a quarterback with a cheerio on his arm, living in a brand new house. And the next? Dating a girl he didn't even like just so he'd have something to focus on other than the fact that he was officially white trash. And the girl, the _only_girl, he had any desire to talk to thought he was a boyfriend/girlfriend-stealing asshole._

_Even if the hull should crack, __  
><em>_Even if the blood flows red __  
><em>_Nothing could be worse than numb, so _

_Please, use me up, I just want anyone, __  
><em>_To, use me up, cause no one ever does __  
><em>_Use me up_

_He sensed her presence before he could open his eyes and confirm it. It was like a thick layer of tension had wrapped itself around the space they inhabited, and as it grew increasingly stifling he was forced to still his hands and look up. There she was, looking angry and sad and beautiful all at the same time. Their eyes connected for what seemed like minutes before the burning in his lungs reminded him that he needed to breathe. _

"_Mercedes." He felt like he was being choked. "What are you—?"_

"_Please don't stop." She bit her lip and shortened the distance between them. "I want to hear the rest of your song."_

_He was about to protest, embarrassed that he'd been caught in yet another a vulnerable moment that week, but the words died before they could reach his lips when he saw the pleading look in her eyes. He sighed, knowing that he was completely defenseless against her. He placed his fingers against the cool black and white keys once more and took a deep breath before playing the melancholy tune once again. _

_I've carried it all too long, the fear of the pain it brings __  
><em>_Feeling the panic building up, __  
><em>_I'd rather the broken heart, than live in the emptiness,__  
><em>_Of "What if the world won't take me"_

_He was acutely aware of her taking a seat next to him on the piano bench, and his voice faltered momentarily before regaining its confidence. Maybe this was the only way he could tell her what had been going through his head in the past month and a half. It was sad that he had to resort to hiding behind a song, considering he had once been comfortable telling her almost anything, but that was the price you pay when you distance yourself from someone._

_Even if the bow should break, even if the blood runs cold __  
><em>_Nothing could be worse than numb __  
><em>_Please, use me up, I just want anyone __  
><em>_To, use me up, cause no one ever does __  
><em>_Use me up __  
><em>_Use me up _

_His voice, once soft and insecure, grew in volume and confidence as he pounded the keys with an anger he couldn't control. If he had just been honest with her from the beginning, they never would have been in this position. He hated the awkwardness that now seemed to follow them everywhere._

_Treat me some way cruel, you can throw me away, as long as I feel it __  
><em>_Show me something true, you can deceive me, I am yours to use __  
><em>_Use me up __  
><em>_Use me up_

_As the last notes faded, he felt her lean into him and place a hand on his knee. His hand sought out hers, lacing their fingers together. When she didn't pull away he squeezed tightly, hoping that maybe they'd be okay._

"_I never slept with Santana." His words were like a gunshot in the silence, but once he'd blurted them out he knew he had to keep going. "I know everyone thinks I did ... I know _you_ think I did ... But I didn't. I'm not saying all we did was play Candyland and talk about politics but I would never do something that intimate with someone I'd only been dating for a few weeks."_

"_Sam, I—"_

"_I never slept with Quinn either. I wanted to, but we never got to that point. And I'm glad that we didn't. In the beginning, I fooled myself into thinking that we were each what the other needed. But after awhile, I grew to hate the person I was when I was with her." His grip on her hand tightened. "I know it wasn't intentional, at least not all of the time, but she had a way of making me feel like I would never, ever be good enough for her. I mean, Jesus … I remember telling my mom that it was my fault we broke up. That if maybe I had been a little less dumb or a little more attentive, she wouldn't have cheated on me."_

"_Sam, you don't need to explain—"_

_Now that he had started with the word vomit, he had to keep going until it was all out. "Santana was just ... Convenient. She was there and willing, so I took her up on her offer. Our house had just gotten foreclosed and I was angry with Quinn and ... I know it wasn't right, but I needed to feel something, anything, other than the numbness I couldn't get away from. I knew going into it that there'd be regret, but I thought maybe it'd be worth it. That was a brilliant idea, huh?" He laughed bitterly and pushed his shaggy hair out of his eyes. "You know when I wrote that song? During lunch. An hour after she tried to go down on me behind the school, between classes."_

_He felt her body stiffen at this words, and he cringed. She probably hadn't needed to hear that detail. "I turned her down, and … The next thing I knew, she was dating Karofsky. But anyway, I don't know why I just said that ..."_

_She relaxed slightly and was quiet for a beat, and he took that as a sign he could continue._

"_I just want to say that I'm sorry. I've been a really shitty friend to you for close to two months now, and I apologize. You did nothing to deserve the cold shoulder I gave you. You've been one of the only real friends I've made since I moved here, Mercedes, and it kills me to think that I screwed it up." His voice caught in his throat, and he mentally chastised himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. "I understand if you don't want to be my friend anymore." His voice sounded childish, and he began to prepare himself for her exit from the auditorium. _

_Her words surprised him. "I just want to know why." She freed her hand from his and turned her body so that she was facing him. Her eyes were angry, but there was softness in them that made him hold his breath and desire to hear what she had to say next. "One day you're at my house and we're watching the extended edition of Avatar, and the next you won't even look me in the eye. You ignored my calls, my texts ... Sat as far away from me as possible in chemistry and glee club. You went from being this ball of positivity and light into someone I don't even recognize."_

_Sam felt his cheeks begin to redden and he looked down at his lap, ashamed. In the quiet moments they spent in the library studying for chemistry, Mercedes had confided in him. She'd shared her hurt over Quinn's aloofness towards her and Kurt's inability to keep their dates now that he'd gotten a boyfriend. One by one, her friends were moving on without her, and it had been getting to her more than she liked to admit. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never do that to her, and yet with his inability to think of anyone but himself, he'd done exactly that._

"_I was embarrassed."_

_Before he could realize what was happening, her hand was on his cheek and she had dipped her head in order to force him to look at her. Their role reversal almost made him crack a smile; usually he was the one forcing her to look at him. "Sam, you had nothing to be embarrassed of. You _have_ nothing to be embarrassed of."_

_His sigh was barely audible as he nuzzled his cheek into her hand. The last time she'd touched him had been when he'd left her house after their Avatar movie night. She'd walked him to the door and, standing on her tip toes, reached up to give him a customary goodnight hug. Their friendship had always been purely platonic and based on a love of all things nerdy (which is probably why Quinn had never minded it) but that night he'd felt an overwhelming urge to be something more to her than just the goofy guy that came over to watch movies and eat her mom's cooking. He'd lingered in her arms longer than usual, but she hadn't seemed to mind, merely flashing him the same smile she always did when he'd finally pulled away to leave for the night. _

"_I didn't want you to look at me the way everyone has been looking at me since they found out. I didn't want pity. Especially not from you ..." He didn't mention that he had also been trying to avoid his ever growing feelings for her, not only out of a fear of rejection, but out of a fear that he wouldn't be able to properly court her in the way she deserved, even if she did feel the same._

_Her thumb rubbed across his cheek gently, and her eyes grew sad. "I'd never pity you. I'd be sad with you, but I'd never pity you."_

"_You're too good for me. You always have been, but especially now."_

_She brought her other hand to his face and squeezed his face in her hand, making his lips protrude in an overstated pout. "Samuel James Evans, you shut your damn mouth right now, ya hear? I don't ever want to hear you say that me again. I'm not Quinn and I sure as hell am not going to sit here and be a guest at your own pity party. It's your own damn fault we're in this situation right now anyway. So just shut up and stop pushing me away. Let me be your friend, okay?" She squeezed his face tighter. "Okay?"_

_He nodded quickly and she dropped her hands, giving him the smallest of smiles. _

"_Good."_

_She put her arm around him, and even though it was a little awkward since he was so much taller than she was, he took the opportunity to rest his head on her shoulder. He had to leave for work soon, but he was going to make the most of the five minutes he had left. They had a lot of things they still needed to talk about, but for now he was content with having her next to him once again. _

"_Your song was really good, Sam. But I'm sorry you felt that way."_

"_It's not your fault."_

"_I know, but I'm still sorry. You deserve more than that. Next time, demand more."_

_He smiled to himself, remembering that his mother had said virtually the same thing after he'd told her that he and Santana were through. _

"_Thank you, Mercedes. For being my friend. I won't ever shut you out again, I promise."_

_She kissed the top of his head and he could feel her smile against his hair. "Good."  
><em>_  
><em>Sighing, Sam let himself relish in the memory of her for a few moments longer. He could smell the scent of her perfume and feel the softness of her body, almost as if she were still sitting right there next to him. But before he could get lost in another memory of her, he became aware of a lack of sound in the truck; a lack of movement all together. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Finn and Rachel, only to find them standing outside of the vehicle entirely. Smirks played upon both of their lips as they looked at him expectantly.

"Dude. We've been at my house for five minutes now. Are you going to come in or do you wanna crash out here? We have an extra bedroom, ya know."

Sam blushed and quickly scrambled out of the car, grabbing one of his bags and nearly tripping in the process. "Sorry man. Guess I got lost in my own world there."

Finn slung an arm around his shoulders and led him towards the front door of the newly remodeled Hudson-Hummel house.

"I can tell. You haven't said a word for the last hour."

"Sorry. I—"

"Don't worry about it. Mercedes tends to have that effect on people."

Sam chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Tell me the truth, man. Do you really think I have a shot here?"

The taller boy grinned and slapped him on the back.

"I dunno, but we're about to find out."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: I feel like I need a drink after this chapter, because it was a beast to edit! Please forgive any errors I may have missed. I know there is a lot going on, but I <span>tried<span> to put everything together in a way that wasn't too choppy. Getting Sam to Lima was the obvious priority, but I didn't want it to be all goodbyes, so hence the flashbacks. Hopefully they give a little more insight into his relationship with Mercedes. **

**As always, thank you to those who review (you know who you are ;)) and favorite and whatnot. They all make my day. You all are so encouraging! **

**The song used in this chapter is "Use Me Up" by Hanson. I didn't plan on repeating artists, but I was dying to use this song. There is an acoustic version as well as a studio version, which differ slightly from one another, but both are equally gorgeous in my opinion. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

><p><strong><strong>Chapter Six: Last Few Days (Here Right Now) <strong>**

It had been ten minutes since he'd stepped foot at the entrance of William McKinley High School, but Sam had been unable to do anything but stare up at the bricked structure in front of him. He and Finn had arrived more than an hour before school was scheduled to begin, but when his friend had bounded inside to go find Mr. Schue to tell him that the trip to Kentucky had proved successful, Sam just couldn't bring himself to follow. The adrenaline rush he had been riding for the last two days had now worn off, and he was left feeling mentally exhausted and doubtful about whether this really was the best move he could have made.

What if she wasn't happy to see him?

What if she wouldn't talk to him?

What if she _did _talk to him but wasn't the same Mercedes he had spent the summer falling in love with?

Endless questions flooded his mind as he stood staring straight ahead, feet planted firmly on the cement ground. The school seemed much more ominous than it ever had before, even last year when he was coming in as the new kid. At least then he knew what to expect; he had been prepared to do whatever it would take to make a place for himself in a foreign environment. But now things were different. He wasn't the kid with the dorky hair who had dyed it with lemon juice in hopes that he'd fit in. He was the guy with a chip on his shoulder and something to prove. All that popularity shit that he had wasted so much time and effort on last year was the last thing on his mind. He had one goal and one goal only: convince Mercedes that they belonged together.

But how?

That was the million-dollar question, and he didn't have the slightest clue how to answer it. He'd done his fair share of dating, but he'd never had to woo a woman with the intention of playing for keeps before. Sure, he'd done a lot of things in his pursuit of Quinn—and in his attempts to keep her—last year, but all of it—the promise ring, the long monologues about stars, and the Bieber serenading—was all child's play when compared to what he was going to have to do to get Mercedes to not only forgive him, but to realize that they deserved another shot. He'd spent far too many hours thinking about what he would do if given the chance to come back to her, but now that he had arrived at the moment, everything he had been planning seemed embarrassingly inadequate.

Sam stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and rolled back and forth on his heels. Maybe he should have called her first; tried to rebuild their friendship before he came waltzing back into her life. Mercedes had never been the type of girl who loved surprises; she much preferred comfort of plans and structure. It was one of the things he appreciated most about her, mostly because he was exactly the opposite. He often functioned at one, constant grueling speed, whereas she was able to seamlessly change speeds depending on whatever situation she needed to adapt to. She was the most level headed person that he knew, and she had a way of forcing him to slow down and take a breath whenever he needed it the most. But while she had always appreciated his tendencies for the dramatic—maybe even had once loved him in spite of them—she would not be happy to see him back, not in her state of unpreparedness. He should have given her fair warning. That would have been the logical thing to do.

The logical thing.

He allowed himself to smile as he repeated the words over in his head. Who was he kidding? Being logical had never been his strong point. If anyone knew that, it was Mercedes. If catching her off-guard was what it took for him to get an honest read on her, then it was what it took. And more than that, he didn't want to be just friends with her, so he wasn't about to go in there and pretend otherwise. He'd been protective of his feelings before, and all that had gotten him was nowhere. Now it was time to tell her exactly how he felt.

Sam stood a little straighter and took a deep breath. The first step would involve physically walking into the damn school. He couldn't do anything if he was on the outside looking in. It was now or never, and if that mantra was something Bon Jovi lived by, then it would have to be good enough for him too. Squaring his shoulders, he pushed through the doors and walked inside.

The meeting with Principal Figgens had been quick and painless enough. The man was as quirky as ever, but he seemed genuinely happy to have Sam back. He was even happier to know that his second favorite music group—he went tangent about Air Supply for three long minutes and afterwards Sam still couldn't name one of their songs—would have a familiar face back with them as they attempted to win sectionals for the third straight year. Surprisingly, there had been no issues with his credits from his school in Kentucky transferring over, and it look less than twenty minutes for Sam to officially become a student at McKinley once again. The senior year that had once seemed bleak was suddenly full of promise and endless possibilities.

There was still a half an hour until classes would start, and after finding his old locker (which Finn had managed reclaim from a freshman and renovate with a chapstick display adorned with flavors that would rival a thirteen year old girl's collection) Sam decided to make his way to the choir room and drop his guitar off in Mr. Schue's office, like he had done last year. The guitar was too big to keep in his locker, and he didn't want to lug it around to the three classes he had before glee club. He made his way down the still sparsely populated halls intending to do exactly that, but instead he somehow found himself ignoring the choir room and continuing past it until he was setting foot inside the auditorium for the first time since before Nationals last year. After their embarrassing loss no one in glee club had the strength to stomach another performance, and he'd never gotten the chance to say goodbye the place where he often sought comfort.

He stopped in the doorway and surveyed the empty room. Before he realized what was happening his feet were moving at a near jog down the aisles, as if the stage was calling to him. As he made his way up the steps at the front of the stage he began to remove his guitar from its case, and then did a little slide across the familiar scuffed floor he'd gotten so used to performing on last year. He strapped on his guitar and looked around, unable to keep the goofy grin from his face and his fingers from strumming a dramatic major chord.

God, it was good to be back.

He kept strumming lazily as he walked back and forth along the edge of the stage. He'd played on the Stallionz stage dozens of times after hours, but it never compared to the experience of playing on this one. Here the stage brought him a sense of peace; at Stallionz it was merely a spot for him to sulk. Maybe the reason for having few positive memories on that stage was because he had never managed to muster up the courage to ask Jimmy if he could play for a real audience. He thought back to the idea he'd had on the way back to Lima. Maybe when he went back for Christmas he really would ask Jimmy for a chance to show people the real person behind White Chocolate. Maybe …

Lost in thought, his fingers began to play a familiar tune. It was one that he'd taught himself several years before, back in junior high when he had been trying to find the perfect melodies that would put Stacy to sleep. She and Stevie been a toddlers then, and she had always wanted to be read a story before bedtime. Reading to her had been good practice for him, but before long they'd read and re-read each of the stories in her bookcase a dozen times. One night, she'd finally asked him to make up his own story, and instead of speaking, he'd grabbed his guitar instead. Sometimes, at her insistence, he would make up words to go along with the tunes—verses that told tales of a golden haired princess and her handsome brothers—but other times she was content with no words at all. Gradually, as they'd both grown older, he'd replaced the princess songs with more mature ones of his own, or covers, and she had always been excited to hear what he would come up with for their own special concert each night.

_I'm not trying to win you back__  
><em>_Change your course or veer your track__  
><em>_I don't claim to have what you're looking for__  
><em>_I don't know what I should do__  
><em>_Sit around and wait for you__  
><em>_I'll drive 'til I get to your front door_

This had been the one she'd deemed as her favorite. After he had originally played it for her, she'd requested it every night for weeks. After he grew tired of playing only one song night after night, he began to play two. The first would always be something new, but the secondwas always the same. Up until the day he sold his guitar last year, their nightly ritual had remained unchanged. After Finn and Rachel bought it back for him, they fell back into their old routine, with Stacy sometimes not even making it through the last chorus before her breathing would turn slow from sleep. He played for her less frequently once they'd moved to Kentucky, since he was often working late nights, but whenever he was fortunate enough to be home around bedtime, this was always her only request. For reasons he didn't fully understand it soothed her, and knowing that it did, in turn, soothed him too.

_But these last few days__  
><em>_Every wall around me is just falling down__  
><em>_And all I want to say,__  
><em>_I would give my life to tell you here right now__  
><em>_Here right now_

He saw something—a figure— make a movement in back of the auditorium. He hadn't realized that he had an audience. He squinted, but the lighting was too dim for him to be able to make out who it was. Keeping his fingers strumming, he made a motion for the figure to come forward, but whoever it was didn't move from their place the shadows. He stared, hoping recognition would dawn on him, but he wasn't able to make out anything. He'd started to turn around and turn his back to his audience of one, but something caught his eye: the reflection of light against jewelry. Unmoving now, he stared harder and his eyes widened as he saw a pair of familiar yellow patent leather sneakers finally move into the light. The last time he'd seen them, they'd been tossed into a closet in favor of chunky wedges that were more appropriate for summer.

There was only one person those could belong to.

_I'm thinking what you're wearing out__  
><em>_What you both are talking about__  
><em>_All the things he does that makes you smile__  
><em>_And I don't have a plan wrote down__  
><em>_Where we'll be a year from now__  
><em>_Maybe you should stay a little while_

She hesitantly revealed herself to him, moving languidly, as if approaching a dangerous animal. Her mouth formed a perfect "o" of surprise but she remained silent as she continued towards him. Her eyes were unreadable.

Sam forced himself to remain planted on the stage, but all he wanted to do was run to her and scoop her up in his arms like he'd dreamt of doing every night since he'd left. It was very movie-of-the-week, and incredibly cheesy, but he didn't care.

He bit his bottom lip as he continued strumming, drinking her in. He had never considered the possibility that time could have dulled his memory of her, but in the moment it was like he was seeing her for the first time. In the days since he had last laid eyes on her, she had transformed into a woman. She had never been shy, but the confidence she now oozed made his face flush and his palms sweat. He let his eyes drift over her ample curves, mentally tracing his fingers along them as he remembered how soft she always felt.

She was breath taking.

_But these last few days__  
><em>_Every wall around me is just coming down__  
><em>_All I want to say__  
><em>_I would give my life to tell you here right now__  
><em>_Here right now_

He could feel his heart hammer inside of his chest, and wondered if it was physically possible for it to pound itself right out of his body. If it was, seeing her would be worth the consequence. She now stood mere feet away from him, and the intensity of her gaze nearly made him play the wrong notes, but he kept his composure and continued on with only a wink at her.

Her eyes widened at his wink, but she still said nothing; gave no hints as to what thoughts were racing through her mind. He could see that she had a death grip on something in one hand, probably a cell phone, and that the other was balled into a fist at her side. He hoped that she was shaking from shock and not rage.

_But these last few days  
>Every wall around me is just coming down<br>And all I want to say,  
>I would give my life to tell you here right now<br>Here right now  
>Here right now<br>To have you here right now  
>Now, now, now<br>Here right now_

He let the last notes of the song he played slowly die, and as silence began to overtake the room he slowly lifted the guitar over his head and placed it gently on the stage. His heart had returned to beating normally, and a strange sense of calm had washed over him. The moment he'd waited six months for was finally here and he wasn't about to waste it by playing the awkward silence game. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. If he stood there any longer, he might talk himself out of what he was about to do. Realizing this, he hopped down off the stage and made his way over to her in two quick strides. He eyed her for the briefest of moments, scanning her face for any sort of reaction, and after getting nothing he wrapped his arms around her and hugged tightly. He was finally back where he belonged.

"We have to stop meeting like this."

He was on sensory overload, reacquainting himself with the scent and the feel of her. She may have looked a little different, but she felt exactly as he'd remembered. Her body still fit with his perfectly. It was only when he felt her arms wrap around his neck—and her head rest in her favorite spot over his heart—in a grip that was just as tight as his that he stopped to relish the moment, pushing every thought of what he wanted to say to her out of his head.

He could hear her take a breath, as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead one of her hands made the familiar journey to the mop on top of his head. He wore it shorter than he had last year, but she still managed to find a way to twist her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. He was unable to contain the small sigh that made its way to his lips at her touch. He'd always loved it when she played with his hair.

They stood, silently wrapped in each other's arms, until the bell signaling that school would be starting in five minutes rang. The noise had barely finished echoing in the room and she was pulling away and looking up at him in shock, as if she had only then remembered that she wasn't supposed to be hugging him. She began to slowly back away, shaking her head at his attempts to pull her close to him once again.

"Wait. Don't go yet, okay? Let me walk you to class," he pleaded, reaching for her again. His fingertips grazed hers, and she recoiled at the sensation they brought. She stumbled as she walked, but that did little to deter her. She seemed to be moving as fast as her legs could carry her.

"I—I ... I can't."

With those words she turned and ran out of the auditorium, leaving him red-faced and alone, the scent of her still clinging to him.

* * *

><p>"Hey Sam, wait up!"<p>

His last class before lunch had just wrapped up and he was making his way towards his locker when he heard a familiar voice calling to him from behind. Before he could turn to match a face to the voice, an arm was linked through his and he was being steered towards the drinking fountains.

"Quinn Fabray."

Her reply was a soft squeal of delight, and when he stopped walking she immediately stopped as well and threw her arms around him in a fierce hug.

"I can't believe you're really here!"

He returned her hug, squeezing slightly, before releasing her and leaning against a nearby locker. He folded his arms across his chest and smirked at her.

"Seems to me like you should be the least surprised out of everyone to see me here," he mused. She'd acted shocked to see him earlier in the choir room, but he had seen an unmistakable glint in her eyes. He wasn't sure what she was happier about: him being there or the fact that she'd been the person who managed to manipulate the situation and convince him to come back.

"Not surprised, just happy." She seemed to ignore his defensive posture, and just smiled at him. "You being back changes everything, Sam. I can't tell you what this means to everyone."

He gave a non-committal shrug. "I don't think everyone is quite as happy as you are." That was an understatement, and he cringed inwardly as he remembered nearly coming to blows with Blaine only an hour before. Though he had never gotten the chance to get to know Kurt's boyfriend very well before he left, he'd always thought of him as a good guy. That hadn't changed, and he assumed that he'd get better acquainted with Blaine as time went on, but it didn't make him any less offended by his comments. So much for keeping the more intimate details about his life in Kentucky under wraps. His former occupation was clearly a topic already being discussed by his peers, though he hadn't been back in Lima for a full twenty four hours yet.

Quinn reached out and touched his shoulder gently, giving it a tiny squeeze. "Don't take any of what happened back there personally. Things between Finn and Blaine have been tense since school started. Sooner or later things were going to come to a head, and you were the unfortunate one who got caught in the crossfire."

"I guess. Not really the way I wanted my first day back to go though." He wasn't sorry for defending himself, though he did regret that his actions had put an end to what had otherwise been a productive practice. On another day he might have let the comment slide, but not today.

"Don't worry about it. We'll be fine." She shot him a reassuring smile before curling her lips in a sly smile. "Now, onto more important things ... Have you talked to her yet?" She leaned back on her heels and bounced slightly, seemingly eager to hear his answer.

"You mean Mrs. Webber? Oh yeah, I saw her all right. Convinced her to let me in her Home Ec. class too." He shot her a cocky grin that he'd perfected at Stallionz and slowly ran a hand through his hair, flexing his bicep in the process. He'd gotten good at that move too. It was very Tom Cruise in Top Gun, if he could be so bold as to say so. "Pretty sure she has a thing for me."

It only took seconds before her laugh joined his. She shook her head at him and pointed an accusatory finger. "You. Need to stop using humor to deflect from talking about the issues at hand."

"Yeah, my therapist says the same thing."

She raised her eyebrows at him and made a point to look at the imaginary watch on her wrist. At that moment she reminded him so much of Jeanie that he almost burst out laughing again. Their similarities, both in looks and in attitudes, were pretty damn uncanny.

"What is it with the women in my life not appreciating my sense of humor?"

"Sam!"

"Quinn!"

She growled and brought her still extended index finger to his chest to give him three hard pokes. "Stop. Making. Jokes."

He pushed her hand away and rubbed his chest as he shot her a glare.

"Geez, no need to get violent." He rolled his eyes and expelled a large breath. "I'm gathering that you're talking about Mercedes—"

"I am."

He glared at her again. "If I could continue without being interrupted, that'd be nice ... But if you must know, yes I saw her. That's it. There's nothing more to tell."

He lowered his eyes to his Chucks and keep them there, knowing that she was staring at him with that famous Quinn gaze that he had been lucky enough to avoid through phone calls. Unfortunately, now his time was up.

"You're lying." Her voice was melodic, and she smiled a smile that others may have interpreted as angelic, but that he knew was calculated. Back when they were dating, he had been quick to learn how to distinguish between her smiles, and this one was definitely far from innocent.

"Am not." His voice came out mumbled and he cursed himself for not sounding more confident.

"If you don't tell me what really happened, Sam, I swear I will go find Mercedes right now and get the story from her."

Careful not to show too much of a reaction, he simply shook his head at her in fake disbelief. "Wow, Quinn. First you send Finn and Rachel to Kentucky to do your dirty work, then you go and turn Jake Sully against me, and now you're threatening me? That's just hurtful."

Her eyes had narrowed into slits and she took a step closer to him, invading his personal space. He took it upon himself to step closer to her as well, and soon they were standing inches apart.

"Sam!"

"Quinn?" A sense of déjà vu drifted over him and he grinned goofily at her, chuckling when her eyes flashed. He'd always under estimated his ability to get under someone's skin, but this was kind of fun.

"That's it. I'm going to go find Mercedes right now and—" She had turned to walk away from him but he grabbed her arm and reeled her back towards him before she could even take a step.

"Calm down, lady. I was just messing around."

She swatted him on the chest lightly, but smiled at him regardless. "I forgot how irritating you can be. Now spill." Jesus. How had they managed to date for as long as they did? She was like the older sister he never had, nor wanted. Obviously she no longer cared about whatever boundaries they'd previously established during their phone conversations.

"Well ... There really isn't a lot to tell, I wasn't lying. I was in the auditorium, playing my guitar when she walked in. She walked towards me, and then we stared at each other, and then I stopped and there was silence, and then I ran over to her and then I hugged her," he said, all in one breath. That was the condensed version. She didn't need to know just how long their hug lasted, did she?

"You hugged her!" He hadn't known that Quinn was someone capable of producing such a cat-like screech, but the ringing in his ears proved him wrong.

"Well, that was an ungodly sound if I ever heard one." He grimaced and rubbed his ear. "Please don't ever do that again."

She scowled briefly but nodded. "That's big, Sam. Then what happened?"

He scrunched his nose as he recalled the way she had fled the auditorium. Maybe hugging Mercedes had been a little too much a little too soon, but he couldn't help himself. Then again, despite her shock, she hadn't pulled away. That had to be a good sign, right?

"Then ... The bell rang and she left. I told you, there wasn't much to tell." Maybe repeating the phrase three times would magically make her believe him.

She tapped her nails against the books she was holding in her hand thoughtfully. "You mean she didn't say anything? That's not like Mercedes at all."

"I know, I—" He hadn't intended to cut off his own sentence, but a familiar curvy, leopard print clad figure had just left the classroom two doors down from the drinking fountains, and was headed down the steps. Now was his chance.

He shot Quinn an apologetic look as she began to protest and sprinted towards the stairs, bumping into a few people in the process. He moved as quietly as he could, not wanting to tip her off to his presence. After cutting off an angry looking girl he recognized from his homeroom, he was finally in good position to move into the small space that was next to her.

Grinning at his good look, he reached for her small hand and laced his fingers through hers.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

It took her three full Mississippis to pull away. That was as good as five normal seconds.

"What are you doing?" she hissed as she pulled her hand from his grasp. He noted that her tone of voice was less than friendly, but no where near angry.

"Holding your hand," he drawled, knowing that he was stating the obvious, but not really caring.

"Well, don't." She tried to dart away from him and get lost in the sea of people surrounding them, but he wasn't about to let that happen. She'd gotten her way this morning; now it was his turn. She'd only gotten a couple feet in front of him before he caught up to her. Grabbing her arm with a gentle yet firm grip, he veered her towards an unoccupied history classroom. By the time she had opened her mouth to make a squeak of protest he had already shut the door behind him.

"We need to talk."

Her hands were on her hips before he had even finished his sentence. "And you think forcing me into a classroom is a good way to start the conversation?" She leveled him with a glare that would have made even Rachel Berry stutter and apologize, but he was unable to focus on anything other than the tiny strand of hair that had attached itself to her bottom lip. He clasped his hands together in front of his body and stood leaning against the door, hoping that the pain of the handle jamming into the small of his back would be enough to keep him from giving in to the overwhelming urge he had to brush the hair away.

"Would you have preferred the janitor's closet? Cause I can make that happen." He raised his eyebrows suggestively and shot her a mischievous smile. The way she shook her head, despite her irritation with him, and snickered reminded him of the many hours they'd spent together over the summer, and he immediately knew which words would be coming out of her mouth next.

"Samuel James Evans, you—" She cut short her own sentence as soon as she realized what she had done and the apples of her cheeks began to rapidly turn pink. She ducked her head briefly and he could see her clearly mouth the words "help me Jesus" silently before she looked up at him again. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"I still love it when you say my name," he murmured, knowing that he was coming on a little strong, but not caring in the slightest. There was no use in pretending that he didn't love everything about her or that they hadn't shared something special all those months prior.

"Sam ..."

He closed his eyes and groaned, letting his chin drop to his chest. He probably needed to rein it in a little, but he couldn't help himself when he was around her. It was just so easy to let himself slip back into the role of her boyfriend; too easy. Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, he slowly lifted his head to look at her. He squinted at her, opening one eye, and grimaced as he let a small laugh escape his lips. "Just say it one more time, and then I swear I'll stop."

The sound she made in return wasn't the uninhibited laugh that he had wanted to hear, but it was something close enough to it that he was left feeling a tingling sensation that spread throughout his body. "Saaaaaaam."

"Ugh!" He groaned again and grabbed at his chest, making a point of stumbling forward towards her. "Gets me every time."

In spite of her awkwardness, she shook her head at him and didn't make any attempts to cover up the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth. "You are still just as crazy as you were when you left, aren't you?"

There was a flicker of something in her eyes when she mentioned his leaving, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Crazy for you." Her eyes widened as he took another step towards her. "But that's something that will never change."

She took a step back and held up a hand as if to stop him from advancing. "Other things _have_ changed, Sam. I have a boyfriend." Her eyes narrowed and he could see her shoulders square. Someone was ready for a fight.

He gave her a knowing look. "Believe me, I know. I did a little homework before I came back, Miss Jones." Well, he'd tried anyway. She didn't need to know that his attempts at pumping Kurt for information the night before had proved about as fruitless as they had with Finn and Rachel. How was it possible that no one had much of anything to say about her boyfriend?

She moved her head back and forth the way she always did when she was being sassy. "Well, then you know he's built like a bulldozer."

He stood up a little straighter. He may have been on the thin side, but that didn't mean he couldn't scrap with the big guys, if that's what it came down to. "Mercy ..." She flinched at the familiar nickname and he became irritated at himself for once again forgetting that they couldn't just pick right up where they'd left off. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Look Sam, I've moved on. I _had_ to." She shot him a pointed look, and he dug his short nails into his palms as the memory of that night came back to him for what felt like at least the tenth time that day. "Now it's time for you to do the same."

He shook his head and spoke matter-of-factly. "I tried. It didn't work. Nothing about me works without you." He reached for her hand, but she had already started towards the door. "Mercedes. Just talk to me. Please."

She turned back to him and although her eyes were hard, he could see an underlying layer of sadness in them. She covered it up well, but he could tell that their conversation had thrown her for a loop. When the day began, that's what he had been hoping for: shock and awe. He'd figured that catching her off guard would be his best chance at making her listen to him. Somewhere in the deepest corner of his mind, he'd even had a delusional hope that maybe she'd simply fall back into his arms. He'd been stupid to even think the thought, let alone hope for it. It was all too clear now that this was a lot, maybe even too much, for her to handle in one day.

"We had a summer fling."

He smiled softly at her. Whereas Quinn's first line of defense was distance and his was humor, Mercedes' had always been denial. If she hadn't been so ridiculously talented in the music department, he knew she could have easily made it as a lawyer, because the girl could talk herself out of anything. She'd have to work on her poker face though, because the slight quiver of her bottom lip told him all that he needed to know. She may have intended for her words to discourage and maybe even hurt him, but he didn't believe—not even for one second—that she meant them.

"It was more than that."

"It's time to move on."

He'd taken his focus away from the door, and she took the opportunity to scoot past him and exit the classroom. He quickly moved towards the open doorway and followed after her with his eyes, noting that she was making her way down the hallway, through a throng of people, towards the cafeteria.

It was going to take a lot of work, and it was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done, but this was far from over. He knew it. She knew it.

"Mercedes!" he called after her, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry through the hallway. He could see her slow her pace, but she didn't stop. "I don't care how big or bad your boyfriend is!" Several people walking by turned to look at him, but he didn't acknowledge them. "I'm gonna fight to get you back!"

And now everyone else knew it too.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: It's progress, right? At least these two are in the same state! :) Please forgive any errors I may have missed. Now, I have a question for you guys ... I've been playing with the idea of possibly doing one chapter (an interlude, of sorts) from Mercedes' perspective. Would this be something anyone would be interested in? Let me know. I could go either way, so nothing is set in stone. Thank you again for feedback and keep it coming!<strong>

**The song used in this chapter is "Last Few Days (Here Right Now)" by Graham Colton. I had it on repeat while writing. Not sure if the studio version can be found on youtube, but there are a few live versions there. Some of the dialogue used comes directly from "Hold On To Sixteen" and belongs to Glee.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven: That's Where It Is<strong>

_In the circles I've been running,_

_I've covered many miles,_

_And I could search forever for what's right before my eyes,_

_Just when I thought I'd found it,_

_It was nothing like I'd planned,_

_When I got my heart around it, it slipped right through my hands,_

_Here with you I feel it,_

_I close my eyes and see it_

It was five days later, and Sam was slowly coming down from the high of winning sectionals. The competitions he'd been a part of last year had been great, but this time the New Directions had truly laid all of their cards out on the table, and come together as a team like they never had before. It was kind of ironic, considering their female lead had gotten herself suspended and half of their family had been competing against them, but those who remained had come through. It was probably the most authentic "team win" they'd ever had. Yet despite loving the sweet thrill of victory, he couldn't help but feel horribly disappointed for Mercedes and the rest of her Troubletone sisters. They had been just as good—actually, probably better—than the New Directions, but had nothing but a consolation ribbon to show for it. It hardly seemed adequate.

Sam frowned to himself as he pulled a simple white v-neck t-shirt over his head. Nearly two hours after the competition had ended and the choir room was still busy with activity. The noise was beginning to give him a headache. Everyone was planning to go back to the Hudson-Hummel house to celebrate, and even though he never liked to turn down an invitation to a good party, he wasn't in the mood. He was grateful for the opportunity to continue on with glee club and go to regionals, but he couldn't get the look on Mercedes' face out of his head. They had locked eyes after the winner had been announced, and the heartbreak he had seen had made him immediately start to go to her, but she had been swept up in Tina's arms before he could even take a step. He knew she would try to be strong for the rest of the girls and put on a brave face, but he had seen the quiver in her bottom lip, even as she attempted a smile at her former teammates. He knew that as soon as she felt like it was safe, she'd let her guard down and her emotions would come out in waves.

"Hey, Trouty! Get that sweet ass out here!" Santana's voice was unmistakable even over the loud celebratory music being played through the speakers of someone's laptop. Sam looked up to see her leaning against the doorframe, making a "come hither" motion with her index finger at him. Brittany was there too, resting her head on her girlfriend's shoulder. The blonde's normally smiling face was devoid of any emotion.

He glared at her for a brief moment as he placed his costume in its garment bag and zipped it closed. "Would it kill you to ask nicely? Or, I don't know, say 'please?' Do you even know what that word means?" he asked, not really irritated with her, but too tired to deal with her snarky comments.

She smirked and continued beckoning him with her finger. "Why don't you ask Britt that question, Collagen Lips? She'll tell you all about how polite I can be." She licked her lips and gave her girlfriend a sideways glace, looking like she had a secret she was dying to share. The comment earned her a small smile from Brittany, but it disappeared quickly.

He barked out a laugh and rolled his eyes at her. "Do you ever not look predatory?"

"Do you ever not look pasty and confused?"

He shook his head at her before sighing and making his way to the doorway. "What do you want, Santana? If it's to tell me that the vote was rigged, you can save your breath. I already heard all about it." He expected a nasty retort in return, but instead the smirk left her face and she looked down briefly before shaking her head. She wasn't normally quick to back down, and her sudden meekness caused a wave of apprehension to wash over him. "Is everything okay?" He looked at Brittany for reassurance, but she had buried her face into the Santana's Cheerios jacket.

"It's Mercedes." He thought back to the past year, but he couldn't remember ever hearing Santana call Mercedes by her actual name. This was clearly serious. "She won't come out of the bathroom." She brought a hand to Brittany's face and gently stroked her girlfriend's hairline, smoothing back the stray wisps that had fallen out of her ponytail. Maybe it was the way the florescent lighting was hitting her, but Sam was suddenly struck by how worn down she looked. "We drove in together, and normally I'd wait it out or go all Lima Heights and kick the door down, but Britt is kind of a mess and I want to get her out of here. Do you think you and Frankenteen could give her a ride home? Her parents are in Chicago at some dental conference, otherwise I'd call them."

He nodded quickly. "Sure, of course. Finn went off with Rachel, but he left me his truck. I'll make sure she gets home."

She let out an audible sigh of relief and gave him a tiny smile. "Thanks." She began to lead Brittany away from the doorway before she turned back to him. "And I know you're all anxious to get up in her goodies, but take it easy, okay? She's been dealing with a lot lately."

Sam nodded again, blushing slightly, and motioned for her to get going. "Relax, Santana. I'm not going to do anything to make her night worse. I care about her too much to do that." He was going to make a true effort to be on his best behavior.

"I know." With those parting words, she ushered Brittany out of the doorway and they disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

He grabbed his hoodie from his bag and pulled it on, ignoring the way everyone else in the room was now looking at him. They all knew that he and Mercedes had dated during the summer and now, with his unexpected arrival, had unfinished business between them, but he had yet to give any of them any details. Until he could figure out where they stood, he wasn't willing to talk about her to anyone. Quinn had constantly been pumping him for information, but he'd feigned being too busy with school and preparation for sectionals to talk to her. It wasn't a total lie, but he also couldn't figure out if any of his interactions with Mercedes (which had been minimal outside of a few brief glances and pleasantries in the hallways) had underlying meanings that would be significant enough to share. He wasn't sure when he became the type of guy who agonized over tiny smiles shared across the expanse of a cafeteria or a coincidental passing in the parking lot, but when it came to Mercedes, nothing about him was normal. He'd learned that lesson long ago, but it was something he had to get used to all over again.

"I guess I'll see you guys later," he muttered, grabbing his garment bag and slinging his backpack over one shoulder as he made his way towards the door. He kept his eyes to the floor and moved quickly, not wanting to get sucked into a conversation that would delay him from getting to her. "Kurt, if anyone asks, I'll make sure make it back to the house by curfew."

He didn't wait around to hear the response that was given, choosing instead to walk quickly down the hallway to the girl's restroom that always served as a dressing room before and after competitions. When he arrived at the door, he stood silently for a few moments, unsure of whether it would be a good idea to just barge in, or to give her some warning first. Maybe logic should prevail this time.

"Mercedes?" He lifted his knuckles to the door and rapped against the wood lightly. He could hear nothing but silence, but as he pressed his ear to the door her quiet sniffles were clear. "Darlin' I know you're in there."

She didn't comment on his once-familiar pet name for her. "I'm fine, Sam. Go home, okay? Go celebrate."

Even though she couldn't see him, he shook his head. "I'm in no mood to celebrate."

"Well then … Just go."

"I'm not leaving you. Santana took Brittany home, and I told her I'd make sure you got home safely." He paused and sighed to himself. The words he was about to say were going to taste like vinegar coming out of his mouth, but he knew he had to say them anyway. "I know your parents are out of town, but if you're uncomfortable with me driving you home ... Is there anyone else you'd like me to call? Shane? I could get him for you." He wasn't happy about bringing her boyfriend into the conversation, but he owed it to her to push those feelings of jealousy aside for the moment.

She was silent for a full minute and he thought that it was possible she hadn't heard him. He was about repeat his question when she finally spoke. "Shane was in the audience tonight. I—I sent him home. I didn't want to see him."

"Oh. Okay." He was unsure of how to respond to this new piece of information. On a different day, under different circumstances, he would have allowed himself to relish in the small victory her words would have brought him. He would have make a joke about her boyfriend or burst through the door, ready to shamelessly flirt with her, but not today. Today wasn't about him, it was about her. Their relationship ... Whatever it was now ... Would have to wait.

"Y—you didn't have to wait for me. I c—could have walked home." Her words were intermittently interrupted by tiny hiccups, something normally he would have found adorable. Knowing they were caused by tears broke his heart. "I'm sure you have something better to do."

"I'm fine right here." He dropped his belongings on the ground next to him and slowly slid down against the restroom door until he was sitting. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, finally allowing his body to relax after a long week. "If you'd like to talk, I'll listen. But if you'd rather not, I'm fine just sitting here."

She didn't speak, but he could hear her rummage around for something and then blow her nose. After a moment, he could hear her also slide against the door to sit on the ground. Her whimper was soft but instantly recognizable. Her breaths seemed to turn shallow and before long she was gasping for air. The sobs suddenly seemed to overtake her body and he could feel her shoulders begin to shake through the door.

Sam looked around helplessly, hoping that someone—Kurt, Quinn, Tina, _anyone_—would walk by and help him comfort her. After seeing no one, he looked down in frustration only to see three petite fingers peeking through the small space underneath the door. He debated with himself for a fleeting second over whether it would be appropriate for him (as the "not boyfriend") to touch her, but quickly decided that now what not the time for him to give a shit about technicalities. He covered her fingers with his hand, wrapping them in a grip that he hoped was tight enough to be comforting without feeling overbearing. He held his breath in fear that she'd pull away, but instead she slid more of her hand out, until it was no longer able to move. Before he could stop himself, he began to rub slow circles against the top of her hand with his thumb. It was something she'd always done to him when they were holding hands, so maybe she would find the same comfort in the movement that he had.

_When I'm crashing through the madness,_

_Not sure who I'm supposed to be,_

_When I'm caught up in the darkness,_

_It's your hand that's leading me,_

_You bring me back to solid ground,_

_You lift me up right here, right now_

As he absently moved his thumb he was reminded of an eerily similar scene, one that had occurred months ago. It was kind of ironic that the memory surfaced, considering the events that had taken place that night.

The New Directions had just lost Nationals. And they'd not just lost, but gotten embarrassed in every sense of the word. Everyone was rightly pissed at Finn and Rachel's antics, but more than that there was an underlying feeling of disappointment that all the work they'd done that year was for nothing. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

In the midst of the screaming taking place inside the hotel after they'd gotten back, Mercedes had escaped to the hallway, seeking refuge near the ice machines. Sam had followed her, and in the silent moments they spent letting the steady hum of the ice machine comfort them, he had felt her slowly lose her composure. Her tears were nothing like they were now, but he'd had the same helpless feeling. He'd been about to tell her that it was okay to cry and scream as much as she needed to when she had softly pleaded with him to say something, _anything _to take her mind off of what had just happened.

Blurting out the first thing to pop into his mind, he'd ended up talking for nearly an hour straight about the intricacies of the movie Ghostbusters, how Slimer ranked in his personal top ten list of movie ghosts (behind Casper, but ahead of Bruce Willis' character from the sixth sense …What kind of dumbass couldn't figure out that he was dead?), and his hopes that the rumors of a third movie would finally be confirmed within the next few years. Gradually her tears had ceased, and eventually they both forgot about the competition. At the end of the night, after he walked her back to the door of the hotel room she was sharing with the other girls, he'd asked her if it would be okay if he took her out for coffee once they got home. She'd agreed.

The solution was obvious now. She needed him to speak.

He cleared his throat, trying to find a topic that would be light enough to diffuse the situation. He came up with nothing, which was pretty embarrassing considering how frequently random ideas about comics or movies came into his brain on a daily basis. The same thoughts had been running through his head for days, and he was unable to focus on anything else.

"I stripped for money when I was in Kentucky."

She didn't respond, which was to be expected, but her silence unnerved him.

"I'm sure someone else has told you that by now, but I wanted you to hear it from me. I had every intention of telling you myself right away, but we haven't had much of a chance to talk so ..." He trailed off, unsure of exactly how much he wanted to tell her. In the absence of a decent plan, he decided to wing it and just tell her whatever came into his head.

"My family is doing well. My dad got a job working construction and my mom is working at a bank. We're back on our feet ... But money is still tight, ya know? I had to pitch in. Soon after we got to Kentucky I got a job working at Dairy Queen. The people were nice and I got free food, but it paid just over minimum wage. I had to find something better." He chuckled softly, remembering his disgust at the sight of his first paycheck. "Anyway, one day I drove past this bar that had a help wanted sign and decided to go inside and investigate ... The next day I was learning how to do the perfect body roll. The week after that I did my first show."

Her sobs had lessened into small whimpers, so he decided to keep going.

"I never hated the job. I met some great people there—some not-so-great ones too—but overall it wasn't a bad gig. But it was never something I could be proud of either." He shook his head, remembering the many times he had arrived home in the wee hours of the morning to find his mother slumped over at the kitchen table, having fallen asleep waiting for him to make it home safely. "I lied to my parents for months and it killed me. But I kept telling myself that I was doing it for them, for _us_. That if this was what it took to keep Stacy and Stevie out of another dirty motel then I had to do it. I had to do it." He wasn't sure why he repeated the words, because they didn't make him feel any better. If anything, they made him feel worse.

She had quieted completely now, save for a sniffle here and there, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was judging him. When she pulled her hand away, his fears were confirmed.

"You probably think I'm disgusting. I don't blame you. But I had to tell you ..." He sighed deeply and stood up, ready to call Kurt and beg him to take his place. "Mercedes, please just ... Please understand ... I had to do it. We needed the money. I _had_ to do it." Realizing that he was trying to convince himself of this just as much as he was trying to convince her, his voice cracked.

Dammit. Why hadn't he realized how stupid it would be of him to talk about Kentucky? It was time for damage control. Frowning, he cleared his throat, not willing to turn this into a pity party for himself. He was here for her; his baggage could wait. He'd sort through it another day.

"I'm gonna call Kurt and ask him to come back and sit with you. I'm sure you'd much rather have him here." He pulled out his phone and flipped through his contacts as he began to pace the floor outside of the restroom.

"I don't think you're disgusting."

Startled by the sound of her voice, he dropped his phone on the ground, paying no attention to the clatter it made when it hit the tile. She'd opened the door and stepped towards him without him even realizing it. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, and she'd changed into sweat pants and an oversized Batman t-shirt. He recognized it as his own, one he'd purposely left in her car days before he left. He hadn't known if she'd decided to keep it or throw it in the garbage.

"Mercedes ..." He closed the gap between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how I can help you."

"I don't think you're disgusting," she repeated quietly, ignoring his words as she averted her eyes from his momentarily before meeting them. "You're the most ... Loyal person I've ever met, Sam. You'd do anything to help your family. That's not disgusting, it's honorable. _You _are honorable."

They'd barely spoken two words since that day in the classroom but here she was, comforting him just like she used to. Just like last year.

The tension in his neck was relieved as he processed her words, but he took great care to keep his mouth set firmly in a straight line. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this about me. I shouldn't have ... It was word vomit."

One corner of her mouth twitched briefly, as if she was tempted to smile, but it never came. "Thanks for telling me. I know it wasn't easy for you."

She looked down at their feet, and he hesitantly brought one hand from her shoulder to her cheek, gently forcing her to look at him. It was an action he'd done dozens of times before. "Are you okay?"

Her eyes watered again and she shook her head. "Sam, I just lost to a Rachel Berry-less New Directions. Do you think I'm okay?"

He shook his head, unable to tear his gaze away from her face. A single tear rolled down her cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb. "No. But I don't know how to help you."

Her eyes closed at the touch of his thumb, and he could see her take a deep breath, almost as if she needed to calm herself. "Yes you do. Keep talking."

"About ...?"

She opened her eyes, and the pain he saw within them was even more raw than it had been earlier. "Anything but what happened here tonight."

Sam nodded, fully aware that she could ask anything of him at that moment and he would oblige without hesitation. She didn't deserve to be going through this. "Can I convince you to let me take you home?"

She yawned softly. "Yeah. Let's go." She turned away from him to grab her purse and her own garment bag from inside the restroom. When he made a motion for her to give him the bag, she simply sighed and handed it over, obviously not wanting to use the energy arguing with him would require. He picked up his own things and led her away from the restroom.

They walked in silence down the deserted hallway, and Sam opened his mouth several times to do as she'd requested and take her mind off of the events of the night, but his mind had suddenly gone blank again. When had he ever been unable to think of something to talk about with her? Ever since the beginning of their friendship, he'd never been self conscious around her like he was with other people. He knew that she would never judge him. Their conversations were easy, and the fact that he didn't know how to even begin this one was terribly frustrating.

They exited the school and walked slowly towards Finn's truck, which was parked on the opposite part of the student lot. The cool December air was startling at first, but it made him breathe a sigh of relief. He'd never liked being in the school after hours. There was something entirely too creepy about it: the noises coming from everywhere, the way the lights were dimmed, knowing anyone could be hiding in there.

"I hate being at school at night," he blurted out once they'd reached the truck. He opened her door and offered a hand to her, which she eyed warily for a moment before accepting. She'd ridden in his truck enough to know that she was just short enough to have difficulty getting inside without a hand to steady her. As she settled into her seat, he noticed that she began to shiver.

"What?" She looked confused and crunched her nose at him.

He set his backpack on the floor and carefully laid their garment bags between them before swinging himself inside. He quickly rid himself of his hoodie and tried to hand it to her, making a face when she tried to wave him off before tossing it into her lap. "I hate being at school at night," he repeated, shooting her what he hoped was an easygoing smile. "It creeps me out. I feel like it's a prime spot to get murdered or something."

He could have sworn that he heard her snort, but maybe it had actually been a cough. She didn't seem inclined to speak as she reluctantly put on his hoodie, so he took that as his cue to ramble.

"I'm serious! Think about it: there are a million places to hide—the showers in the locker room, behind the kiln in the art room, under the bleachers in the gym—and even more potential weapons to kill someone with. Baseball bats, those big-ass staplers in the teachers lounge ... The shop classrooms alone have about two dozen deadly weapons! Imagine getting a screwdriver to the eye!"

He was on a roll now, and knowing he sounded ridiculous did little to deter him. There was a point to this particular tangent.

"I blame Boy Meets World." He said the words so matter-of-factly that it caused a ghost of a smile to grace her lips for a fleeting moment. It encouraged him to keep talking. Her house was only ten minutes away from the school, but now he knew exactly what to say to pass the time.

"Do you remember the Halloween episode? The one where everyone was in detention and Shawn had a dream that a killer was loose in the school? And then it turned out that he was actually the killer? That was always my favorite episode, but now I think about it every time I stay late after school for something."

As he glanced at her, he noticed that she'd nodded slightly and shot her a goofy sideways grin. "What really made that episode great were the spoofs though. Remember? They had that chick from I Know What You Did Last Summer as a guest star and even did the whole South Park thing."

He knew that she knew what would be coming next, and even though the element of surprise was lost he was unable to keep his mouth from moving. "Oh My God! You killed Feeny! You bastard!" He never practiced his South Park impressions as much as any of the others he did, but his friends had always liked those the best.

Mercedes tried to contain it, he could see her bite her lip, but she was unable to keep the soft giggle from escaping her mouth at his impression. She never failed to laugh at his attempts to impersonate someone, no matter how bad they were.

"Going down to South Park, gonna have myself a time ..." He began to sing the theme song for the cartoon, too focused on trying to cheer her up that he didn't have time to be embarrassed about knowing all the words to the song. He changed his voice from character to character seamlessly, all the while making what he knew were ridiculous faces. Soon her carefully contained giggles turned to full blown guffaws and she was wiping away tears of mirth from her eyes.

"Sam Evans, you are crazy."

He looked over at her and smiled before shrugging one shoulder. "Admit it ... You love my crazy." A faint blush could be seen spreading over her features, illuminated by the streetlights they passed, but she said nothing to confirm or deny his statement.

"I didn't know you liked Boy Meets World," she mused softly as he made the turn onto the street she lived on. "It was one of my favorite shows growing up."

"Mine too. A true classic."

"It was. I think Cory and Topanga were the first TV couple I really cared about."

"Oh yeah?" He'd pulled into her driveway and parked, but hadn't made a move to exit the truck. "I always liked Shawn and Angela." He turned his body towards her and began to unabashedly stare.

She refused to acknowledge his eyes, insisting on alternating between staring straight ahead and down at her lap. "Interesting choice."

"Not really." He wasn't sure if it was truly possible to perform Jedi mind tricks in a land that wasn't a galaxy far, far away, but he was trying his damndest to force her to look at him. "Shawn was a good character all by himself, but when he was with Angela he was this whole different person. She brought out a side to him that we'd never seen before. Even when they broke up he was still loving her from a distance."

"It was his fault they broke up. He wanted space. He left."

Ouch. That certainly had a double meaning. Oh well. He'd been prepared for that. This topic was one he'd given a lot of thought over the past few months.

"He made a mistake." He chucked softly and shook a stubborn chunk of hair out of his eyes. "No one ever said Shawn was the brightest crayon in the box. He let her go, and he regretted that decision from the moment he made it."

"Sometimes we have to accept the decisions we make for ourselves. Deal with the consequences." Her voice wasn't cold, but he could tell that she was methodically working through whatever inner dialogue was taking place inside her brain.

"He dealt with the consequences as best he could. And when that wasn't good enough anymore, he decided to fight for her." He was consciously trying to bore holes into her with his eyes and hadn't blinked in at least thirty seconds, but she still wouldn't budge. Clearly his go-to website for learning Jedi tricks was full of shit. "Eventually he realized that, for once in his life, he deserved to be happy. I don't think you can fault him for fighting for the one person who made him feel complete."

She finally turned to him, her dark eyes scanning his face. What she was looking for, he didn't know. She opened her mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, as if a new thought had crossed her mind. "We are not Shawn and Angela, Sam."

If she expected him to back down simply because she was giving him that "I _will _cut you if you say another word" look, then she was sorely mistaken. She'd asked him to talk about anything. He wasn't about to stop now.

"But we kind of are, Mercedes."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Just because she's black and I'm black, and he's white and you're white?"

To be honest, that had been the first parallel he'd drawn between them and the TV couple when he'd begun watching reruns of the show before school. But after studying them more closely, that fact seemed to be more of a coincidence than anything. He hadn't intended to dissect the show like he had, but he couldn't ignore the similarities.

Sam shook his head. "Because when Shawn met Angela, he was broken. He hadn't realized it yet, but he was. Before he met her, he was content to date girls who didn't think much of him, just so he wouldn't be alone. He wasn't a bad looking dude, but no one ever saw past his outer appearance. How could they? He was content to be the pretty boy and never go deeper into a relationship than he had to."

He leaned back slightly in his seat and wished that they were talking in a more comfortable place than Finn's truck.

"Angela starts off like all the others, and they have their two weeks. And in those two weeks she becomes more of a friend him than anyone, other than Cory, ever had been.

"But as we pointed out earlier, Shawn isn't too bright. So all of that happens without him even realizing what is going on. Or maybe he was trying to deny it. Maybe he thought a relationship between them would never work. I haven't really figured out which theory is actually true. But anyway, after the two weeks are up, he lets Angela go and tries to move on."

He paused for a moment and swallowed, sensing his voice was about to go hoarse. Mercedes was looking like she wanted to say something, but allowed him to continue nonetheless.

"But then something funny happens. He finds this purse and everything changes. You've watched the show so you know how the story goes ... Anyway, Shawn eventually comes to find out that the contents of the purse belong to Angela. And then suddenly ... The light bulb turns on. Finally, cupid's arrow hits him in the ass and makes him realize that this girl ... This beautiful _perfect _girl ... Has been there all along.

"And at first, Shawn is so scared. I mean, come on. He's basically trailer trash, right? How could he possibly be worthy of this amazing person? But eventually he gets the guts to go after her. And yeah, things are kind of awkward at first and they struggle, but eventually they get there. They get to that point where they're just ... Happy."

He was officially babbling now, and the way Mercedes' jaw had become unhinged was probably a sign that he should just shut the hell up, but he was too far in. Sam Evans didn't do things the half-assed way. If he was going to dig himself into a hole, he was going to do it with flair.

"And yeah, they do break up when they get to college. Yeah, he drops the ball and is a complete moron for letting her go, but even through all of that he never stops loving her, Mercedes. He never stops. He tries to move on, but nothing ever feels as right as it did when she was in his arms.

"But he doesn't want to disturb her life. He knows that the breakup threw her for a loop. He knows that he hurt her deeply and he knows that she is trying her best to move on, so he lets her. He sulks and writes poetry and tries to date and be okay with life, but in the end he fails miserably. So he decides to fight for her again. And just like before, things are awkward for awhile, and things seem to go hot and cold over and over again, but eventually they manage to get their shit together and they stop trying to ignore this force that keeps bringing them together. They're soul mates. And soul mates always find a way back to each other.

"So yeah, I think we're like Shawn and Angela. And I know that this—me being here and telling you that I am going to fight to win you back—is a lot for you to take in right now and I know that you have a boyfriend, but you asked me to talk about something other than what happened tonight and this is what I have been wanting to talk about since I first saw you in the auditorium on Monday morning. And I'm sorry for the shitty timing of it all, but I needed to say that and you needed to hear it." He was actually out of breath after his monologue, but the euphoria he was feeling now that he had finally gotten all he had to say off of his chest was almost therapeutic.

Her face seemed to be stuck in a permanent expression of shock, so he took that as yet another sign that it was time to shut up. He really hadn't meant to talk for that long, but hopefully she would realize that he was serious about her, about their relationship.

As he opened his door and hopped out of the truck, he could feel the adrenaline of the night beginning to wear off. Sleeping for twelve straight hours had never felt more tempting. He grabbed her garment bag and walked slowly over to Mercedes' side of the truck. She'd already opened the door, and again he offered his hand to her. She hesitated only briefly before she took it and gingerly stepped out of the truck.

Letting go of her hand was an idea that briefly crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. Friends held hands too. At that moment he was Shawn and she was Angela and they were friends. The fact the she didn't pull her hand away brought a small smirk to his face as he led her towards her front door.

"Do you have your keys?"

"Um, yeah. They're in my purse somewhere. But there's a key—"

"Under the ceramic turtle you got your mom last year for her birthday. I remember. I'll grab it. Lord only knows where it's hiding in that suitcase of yours." He chuckled and let go of her hand, bending over to pick up the small figurine from its place next to a potted plant. He grabbed the spare key and handed it to her, letting his fingers linger against hers.

"Thanks. And thank you for ... Being there for me tonight." She dipped her head shyly and looked at their feet as she let out a sigh. "I appreciate it."

He'd always had a bad habit of touching things he wasn't supposed to—breakable items at department stores, the tail of his grandparents' cat, cookies fresh from the oven that were hot enough to burn—when he was a kid. The notion that he had clearly never been able to break that habit was at the forefront of his mind when he brought his hand to her cheek for the second time that night. He was probably pressing his luck with all this skin-to-skin contact, but he was long past the point of caring.

"You're welcome. I'm sorry I talked about myself all night."

She looked up and shook her head. "No, don't be. I asked you to."

"We can talk about what happened tonight too, if you'd like. It might help."

"Not tonight ... But maybe someday soon. It's pretty late and right now I'm almost dead on my feet."

"You were amazing tonight, Mercedes. Don't let anyone take that away from you." He stroked her cheek with his thumb once before dropping his hands and taking a step away from her. "Please call me if you need anything, okay? I know Quinn gave you my number."

She nodded. "I will. Goodnight, Sam. Drive safely."

He smiled adoringly at her. "Goodnight, Mercy. Sweet dreams."

He watched to make sure she was able to open the door, and then he turned to take the slow walk back to the truck. She was still wearing his hoodie, but he didn't care. It looked much better on her anyway. He'd made it all the way down the front path before her voice stopped him.

"You do know that Shawn and Angela weren't together in the end, right? She left Philadelphia and went to Europe or somewhere with her father. He let her go again."

He stopped and turned back to her, unable to keep the grin from his face. "That's the beauty of television, though. I get to learn from Shawn's mistakes. And there is no way I'm gonna let history repeat itself."

He gave her a quick wink, and then turned back to the truck, jogging the rest of the way there. He didn't have to look back to know that she was smiling too.

_In the sweetest smile, on a night like this,_

_And a tender touch, that's where it is,_

_When we're tangled up, and can't resist,_

_When we feel that rush, that's where it is,_

_That's where it is_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: Sorry for taking so long to post this, life got busy and writer's block set in, but hopefully that's over. Please forgive any mistakes I may have missed, as this chapter was another difficult one to writeedit. Lots of dialogue, which is a challenge for me. I've always known where I wanted this chapter to go, but it was just a matter of getting there, so I'm crossing my fingers that it turned out okay. :) As always, a huge thanks to those who review (I am horrible about replying to them, but I read and appreciate each one) and sign up for alerts. I love getting everyone's opinions. Regarding a possible Mercedes POV chapter: I will keep this story strictly a Sam narrative, and possibly down the line write a one shot companion piece to shed some light on her thoughts. **

**The song used in this chapter is "That's Where It Is" by the lovely Carrie Underwood. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: The Wren<strong>

_I'm in your garden now, _

_I picked them flowers out,_

_I went too far right now, _

_I meant we bottomed out,_

_You dig for higher ground, _

_You hit the fire now,_

_No time for stoppin' tore the wires out_

"So, lemme get this straight ... You proposed to Mercedes?"

It had been almost a month to the day since Sam arrived back in Lima, and almost nothing of substance had happened between him and Mercedes since the night of Sectionals. They'd had some flirty moments in the choir room prior to Christmas vacation ("All I Want For Christmas Is You" had officially replaced "Jingle Bell Rock" as his favorite carol), and they'd shared a hug the night the glee club had volunteered at the homeless shelter, but that was it. Afterwards, he'd made the trip back to Kentucky with Rory in tow, and she'd gone to visit her grandparents in North Carolina. Since school had started up again, it seemed like she'd been avoiding him. He'd hoped that once the Troubletones had rejoined the New Directions there would be more opportunities for them to talk about their relationship (or lack there of?), but their interactions had been so brief that the subject never came up.

After the first week back at school, he decided that it was time to take matters into his own hands. He'd been very careful not to say or do too much since their conversation in front of her house when he had gone all "Say Anything" on her, but he had been growing increasingly antsy since then. He'd been as patient as he could, and now he was over it. She seemed to be okay with the idea of being friends with him again, so maybe she just needed a little push before she warmed up to the idea of a real relationship.

It was that thought process that had led Sam to his current position: slumped against the wall of the dance studio with Mike Chang looking at him like he'd just confessed to being a member of the Lima mafia. He'd sworn that he wouldn't talk to anyone about what had been going on between him and Mercedes until there was something to tell, and this certainly qualified. It hadn't really been a full blown proposal, but it had been enough like one to make him feel like an idiot.

"Uh, yeah. I guess I did." He rubbed the back of his head, mussing up his hair, and looked up at his friend sheepishly. "You mean that's not something girls consider charming?"

Mike chuckled and grabbed two water bottles from the mini fridge in the corner of the studio. He tossed one to Sam and took a quick swig of his own before he answered. "Not when the girl getting proposed to just turned eighteen and the guy doing the proposing isn't her boyfriend. Small details though."

"Shit." He flopped backwards onto the hardwood floor and covered his face with his arms. "If Mercedes wasn't avoiding me before, then she sure as hell is going to be avoiding me now."

"Most likely." Mike smirked and plopped down across from Sam on the floor. "She seemed pretty freaked out about something when I saw her talking to Tina earlier. Guess that must have been it."

Sam groaned loudly in reply. Those were not exactly encouraging words. "You have to help me, man. I need advice." Maybe getting a guy's perspective on things would help. It certainly couldn't make the situation any worse. Quinn was so focused on the star-crossed-lovers aspect of what was going on that she sometimes pushed too hard. He knew that he needed to be very clear with his intentions—his hesitancy to be completely honest about his feelings towards Mercedes before the move always seemed to be present in the back of his mind, taunting him—but he also didn't want to push her so hard that she wanted nothing to do with him. He was walking along a thin line, and one wrong move could wreck everything.

"Yeah you do." Mike stretched his legs out in front of him and gave Sam's side a soft kick with his Nike-clad foot. "First of all, stop freaking out. It's over and done with, and it probably wasn't as bad as you think. You can't go back and change things now, so just tell me what happened."

Sam took a deep breath and nodded, exhaling slowly through his nose. "It happened after glee club yesterday. Mr. Schue was talking about proposing ..."

* * *

><p><strong>One Day Earlier<strong>

Sam couldn't help but glance in Mercedes' direction when Mr. Schue announced that he was going to propose to Miss Pillsbury. He seemed to find his eyes drawn to her whenever anyone's relationship was mentioned, which was much too often during glee club. Today was no different. The relationship between the Spanish teacher and the guidance counselor, with all of its ups and downs, had been played out in front of the entire school for everyone to see. It was totally weird yet annoyingly compelling. Last year had been the train wreck portion that no one had been able to turn away from, and now it seemed that they were finally happy. If those two, with all of their bullshit and baggage, could figure out how to make things work, then maybe there was a chance for the rest of them too. He wasn't sure if that gave him hope, or made him terrified.

He listened with raised eyebrows as Mr. Schue basically begged the glee club to help him figure out the perfect proposal number. He couldn't help but think that at his school in Kentucky it'd be considered horribly inappropriate for one teacher to ask his students for help in proposing to another teacher, but things at McKinley never seemed to jive with the rest of the world. Oh well. He supposed that it made life interesting. He didn't have any good ideas off the top of his head, but it might be kind of fun to come up with something and prove to everyone that he was about more than country songs and silly background dancing.

Soon enough, the bell rang to signal the end of class, and Sam's thoughts were interrupted. Seeing Mercedes make a beeline for the door, he quickly scrambled to grab his things. Their classes next period were in the same hallway, so he knew she'd be stopping at her locker to drop off the books from her other classes on her way there. Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he nearly leapt over Artie in his attempt to catch her before she got lost in the crowded hallway.

_You're too smart to say what you think and I'm_

_Too real not to say what I feel,  
><em>

_But when it starts to sink, _

_I grab the wheel,_

_I keep on steering for you, _

_I keep on steering for you_

"Mercedes. Hey." He smiled as he fell into step beside her. "What'd you think of all that? Pretty romantic huh?"

She didn't seem surprised by his presence and smiled back at him. "Yeah, it's pretty exciting. Those two deserve to be happy."

"You think you're gonna get married someday?" He knew what her answer would be because it had come up in conversations they'd had during the summer, but figured that it couldn't hurt to remind her that he was still just as interested in her future now as he had been before he'd left.

"Someday. After I win my first Grammy," she said, a slight hint of laughter in her voice.

"Do you have any idea who the guy is? 'Cause I know this awesome dude who's great at impressions and totally _into _you." He'd meant for his words to have the same light tone that hers had possessed, but somehow they came off with an intensity he couldn't control.

They'd arrived at her locker and she was silent for a beat before she turned to him. Her face was a mixture of shock and amusement. Mostly amusement. "What did you ... Did you just propose to me?"

Uh ... That was a good question. Did he?

Immediately, his face felt like fire. He ducked his head and said a quick mental prayer, asking God to get him out of this situation with the least amount of damage possible. When he looked back up at her, he said the first words that popped into his head. "Well ... That depends on what your answer is." He smiled brightly at her, and hoped that he somehow managed to look less stupid than Finn always did after he said something outrageous.

"I'm with Shane. That's my answer." Her voice was firm, but she didn't look mad as she rolled her eyes at him. She turned back to her locker with a slight shake of her head and began putting her books away.

"That wasn't a flat-out 'no.' Does that mean I still have a shot here?" He leaned against the locker next to hers and raised his eyebrows.

"Sam, stop." She rolled her eyes at him once more—a sure sign that she was beginning to lose patience with him—and he knew that he was pushing his luck.

"It's because I'm white, right?" He was careful to keep his voice light and his face void of emotion but it was a worry that lingered deep within him, in the place where he seldom liked to let his thoughts linger. That question scared him. Over the summer they'd gotten more than a couple disapproving glances thrown their way when they were out in public. People never had the balls to say anything to their faces, but it didn't make his blood boil any less. Maybe she just didn't want to deal with it anymore. "Because if it is—"

"Are you crazy?" She interrupted him with a smile and shook her head. "Of course not." He scanned her face for any signs that she was lying, but saw nothing. He let himself breathe a small sigh of relief before continuing his line of questioning.

"Okay, then why? Is it because he's such a stud athlete? The letterman jacket makes all the girls go wild, I know."

"Sam, stop. We had a summer fling, okay? Why are you making such a big deal about this?"

"Because it is a big deal, Mercedes, and it was something bigger than what I think you want to admit." He took a step towards her, invading her personal space. "Are you telling me that thinking about that tilt-a-whirl at the carnival doesn't make you smile?"

She dipped her head and looked up at him through her full lashes, and he was reminded of that night. Her cheeks were tinged pink, and he knew that she was reliving her own memories. He planned to wait for her answer, but instead found himself bringing a hand to her cheek. It seemed that self-control was something he sorely needed to work on when he was around her.

"You were nervous, remember? You hate rides that spin. But I convinced you to go on it with me." She didn't pull away, but her eyes had moved to his shoes so he bent down and caught them again. He had been doing this frequently since his return. At the beginning of their relationship, when they were in the midst of that slightly awkward transition from friendship to something more intimate, this was a game that they had played often. She would look away and he would always come after her. Quickly, she'd grown comfortable enough to meet him stare for stare. The reminder that they were now back at square one—maybe even further back than that—was less pleasant than he cared to admit. "I promised that I would never let anything bad happen to you. So before the ride started I told you that we should have a code word, and that when you got scared you could yell it and I'd find a way to make things better. Do you remember that?"

She nodded, but stayed silent.

"So we agreed that 'Tatooine' would be the word." He chucked softly and stroked her cheek with his thumb. She didn't flinch, for which he was grateful. He had wanted to do that again ever since their moment after Sectionals. "We fought for at least ten minutes about the code word while we were in line. I wanted it to be something in Na'vi, but you weren't going for that. You said something Star Wars related would be much more respectable."

"But anyway, we finally got seated in the ride, and you were doing just fine. But as soon as it started to move, you were slapping my knee and saying 'Tatooine' over and over again. Do you remember what happened next?"

She nodded again and her eyelids fluttered before closing for the briefest of moments.

"I turned to you and I grabbed your face. Just like this." He brought his other hand to her cheek and cupped his face in her hands. "And I told you to look at me and focus … To stop and just breathe … Because if you did that, then you wouldn't notice the spinning as much. So you looked into my eyes, and then I braced my foot against the other side of the car, so we wouldn't slide around as much. Do you remember what I told you then?"

This time, there was no nod in response to his persistent question. But Sam knew, from the way that her body seemed to tense and unconsciously lean into his that she remembered the moment with the same vivid details that he did. Suddenly his lips felt painfully chapped, and he had to pause to moisten them with his tongue. He could see her eyes follow the route his tongue took across his lips, and he swallowed hard. When he spoke again, his voice was almost hoarse.

"I told you ... That you were the most beautiful girl that I had ever met, and that I was an idiot for waiting so long to tell you that. That after I'd looked back over everything that had taken place during the school year, you were the one constant, good thing in my life. And then ...When the ride was over ... I asked if I could have then honor of being your boyfriend. But you didn't answer me. Not at first. Not until we'd gotten off the ride. You took my hand and led me out, and I was so scared that I had screwed things up between us forever, but then you stopped walking and turned back to me, and then you looked up and smiled. You said yes. And then ... You kissed me. God it was such a perfect kiss. I remember wishing, _praying _that it would be the last first kiss I'd ever have. Do you remember? It was slow and sweet and you tasted like pink lemonade ..."

Without evening realizing it, he had begun to hover over her. It was only when his lips were mere inches from hers and he could hear her sharp intake of breath that he was broken out of his reverie. The temptation to remind her just how special their summer together had been was strong, but he forced himself to take a step back. His hands were shaking as he looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. When he returned his eyes to hers all he could see was anger.

"Why are you saying these things to me, Sam?"

"I'm trying to make you realize that you can't just forget about what happened between us. It wasn't just some random hook up you can sweep under the rug. We had a relationship."

"I don't know how many times I can say this, but I'll hire a skywriter if that's what it takes to get through to you: I am in a relationship with Shane now. You need to start respecting it." She slammed her locker shut and turned away from him. "I'd like for us to be friends, but it's never going to happen if you keep doing things like this."

"Mercedes." He reached out and touched her arm. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that you'd be content with being my friend." He was trying hard to remain calm, but he was on the verge of cracking. Was she really going to ignore the chemistry that was still so obviously between them?

She shook her head, refusing to turn back to him and yanked her arm away. "I'm not doing this right now. I need to get to class."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me that you'd be content with being my friend," he repeated softly. "If you can do that ... Then I'll let you go. I promise."

"This is me walking away. It's time for you to do the same." She left him, flushed and more frustrated than ever, alone in an empty hallway.

* * *

><p>"So not only did you propose to her ... But you practically assaulted her in the hallway and then pissed her off." Mike smirked at Sam and shook his head, seemingly in awe of his ability to make an already awkward situation even worse. "Not bad for a day's work."<p>

"I didn't _assault _her," Sam replied, somewhat miffed. He rolled his eyes at his friend and made a face. "I barely even touched her." At least he'd had the good sense to back away before he kissed her. He'd probably be sporting a nice shiner courtesy of Mercedes' right hook if he hadn't.

Mike laughed as he stretched his legs out in front of him and bent to touch his toes. "I hate to break it to you, but the whole glee club has seen the way you look at Mercedes. Have you ever seen that YMCA commercial where that woman eats the stick of butter? Well, you look at Mercedes the way that woman looked at the butter before she ate the thing in like four bites."

Obviously he hadn't been as sly as he had thought.

From his place on the floor, Sam groaned. "Shit. When did I become that guy?"

"What guy?"

He'd been asking himself that question a lot lately. "You know, _that _guy. The one who makes rambling speeches about TV shows from the '90's and stares inappropriately at another guy's girlfriend, and then joins the synchronized swim team in a pathetic attempt to impress her." Sam was vaguely aware that his voice was taking on a high pitched whiney tone that he hated, but he was starting to really freak out. He seemed to be able to portray confidence around Mercedes, but when he was alone the doubts surfaced. What if moving back to Lima had been one big, horrible mistake?

Mike snorted in return. "You've always been that guy. And I'd venture to say that you being that guy is why Mercedes fell in love with you in the first place."

"You think she was in love with me?" He sat up and looked at his friend, curious to hear his perspective on Mercedes. They'd been so careful to keep their relationship on the down low during the summer, and it was surprising to come back to McKinley and find out that most of their friends had known what had been going on. And at this point, he was hungry for any sort of insight anyone could provide him.

"I think she still is, actually."

"How do you know?"

A sly smile spread across Mike's features before he answered. "I'm observant. While everyone else in glee club is fighting over solos or song choices or costumes, I sit back and take it all in."

"And …?"

He shrugged. "And whenever you're not watching her, she's watching you. You don't look at someone the way you two look at each other if there isn't love there."

"Then why is she so hesitant to be with me again?"

Mike looked thoughtful for a moment as he continued to stretch his body across the floor. "You haven't been at McKinley for as long as the rest of us have, so it might not be as obvious to you as it is to everyone else. But the difference between Mercedes and 95% of the girls in this school is that she has a moral code. She's good, ya know? A lot of things happened while you were gone, Sam. She dealt with a lot of shit. And I know that you would have been here if it had been possible, but you weren't."

Sam knew he wasn't going like what Mike was about to say, but it was the truth.

"And Shane was. I really think he helped her through a lot of what she had to deal with this year. She isn't the type of girl who is going to forget that and just jump into your arms now that you're back. I don't think she loves him, but it's obvious that she cares about him too much to want to hurt him like that."

"Yeah. Yeah, I get that. It makes sense. But what does that mean for us? Do I just let her go? Because I can't do that."

"No. I think you keep on doing what you're doing. Mostly because I know that it'd be impossible for you to just sit around and wait, but also because I think it's a good thing that you're being clear about where you stand with her. But just remember that she's sorting through a lot right now. You have to have patience."

There was the word again: patience. It was such a simple concept, but one so difficult to put into practice.

Sam sighed, knowing that Mike was right, but unable to keep the feeling of restlessness from creeping into his brain. "It's just hard though. We lost so much time."

"But she's worth it, right?"

He had a point. All good things in life were worth waiting for. All super heroes had to fight the good fight before saving the world; nothing was ever simply handed to them. Even the fucking poor kid from Titanic had to work to get the rich girl to agree to run off with him. He died in the end … But whatever.

"Hell yeah she is."

Mike grinned and slapped him on the back before jumping to his feet. "C'mon now. Let's get back to work. If you're gonna pitch this idea to Mr. Schue then we need to have the basic choreography down. And it needs to be Finn-proof."

"You think he'll go for it?" Sam took a final swig of his water before tossing the bottle to the side and standing up.

"He wanted something epic, right? I'd say this qualifies."

"I hope so … You know what would be the best part of all this, if we can pull it off?"

"Seeing Mercedes is a bathing suit?"

"I need a cold shower just thinking about it."

* * *

><p>Sam didn't know how they'd managed to pull off the proposal without a single mishap or near drowning, but somehow things had come together perfectly. Mr. Schue had loved the idea, and in the end Miss Pillsbury had been appropriately touched and surprised. No wedding date had been set, but their job was done.<p>

He smiled to himself as he let the warm water of his post-proposal shower run over him and rid his body of the nasty smell of chlorine that he was starting to become accustomed to. Maybe joining the synchronized swim team wouldn't be so bad after all. Coach Roz was a hard-ass, and there would be no changing that, but hopefully the effort he had put into making sure everything had come together would prove to her that he was serious about his commitment to the team. It was never a situation he would have pictured himself to be in, but now that he was here he was going to make the best of it. There was no point to joining the team if he couldn't do his part to help them be the best.

"Sam?" Mike's voice interrupted his thoughts and Sam opened his eyes to see his head peering around the corner of the locker room. "I know that you usually like to do a little Guns 'N Roses in the shower, but I think you should probably cut it short tonight. A certain someone is waiting for you outside."

Sam didn't have to ask to know who the certain someone was, and before Mike had turned back, he'd begun frantically rinsing the shampoo from his hair. Normally he liked to take his time and turn the water so hot it nearly burned his skin, but there were more important matters to attend to.

After successfully rinsing all the shampoo out of his hair and giving himself a quick scrub with his loofah, Sam wrapped a towel around his lower half and grabbed his shower caddy (Kurt insisted that all men of the 21st century should have one, and had presented it to him as a "welcome back" gift) before hot footing it out of the shower. He nearly slipped when he tried to dodge the shampoo bottle Puck threw at him from the neighboring shower, but somehow managed to make it to his locker without injury.

"Did she say anything to you?" he asked hurriedly as he began to haphazardly throw on the first pair of jeans he pulled out of his gym bag. "Did she actually say she was waiting for me, or did you just guess?"

Mike rolled his eyes as he buttoned up his own shirt. "I think she mentioned something about wanting to go on a private swim with you …"

Sam immediately stilled his movements and slowly turned his head to look at his friend. His mouth was instantly dry and when he finally found his voice he sounded eerily similar to a fourteen year-old who'd just hit puberty. "Come again?"

His words were met with a loud groan. "Don't be a dumb-ass. Of course she didn't say that. But she did ask if I wouldn't mind sending you out there when you were finished, so I'd say that she's definitely waiting for you."

"God, you're such a tool. Nicest guy at McKinley, my ass. Sarcastic bastard," Sam grumbled after he shot his laughing friend a murderous look. His wicked sense of humor was actually one of the reasons why he liked Mike so much, and why they got along so well, but he was on edge now. Toying with him like that was just cruel. "One of these days I'm gonna clue everyone in on who the real Mike Chang is. And it ain't gonna be pretty."

"Like anyone would believe you," was the snickered reply that he got and Sam had to chuckle as well. That was probably true. Everyone saw Mike as "the smart Asian who dances," but not many saw who he was underneath all of the obvious stuff. After knowing him for over a year now, Sam was beginning to realize that Mike preferred it that way, choosing to allow only parts of himself to be readily seen. For someone as popular as he was, he was content spend his time with a pretty small circle of friends. It was only after he'd become a part of that circle that Sam realized just how many layers there were to his friend. They'd lost touch when he moved, but their friendship had immediately picked up where it had left off when he returned. In fact, they'd gotten closer. If things with Mercedes managed to work out, Sam hoped that there would be many double dates with Mike and Tina in their future.

"True."

Sam smiled and threw on a fitted v-neck shirt over his standard white ribbed tank top. After putting on his socks he shoved his feet into his Chucks and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if Mercedes wanting to talk to him after the proposal was a good sign or a bad sign, but he was going to have to find out. He decided to leave his belongings in the locker room for now, and come back for them later. He squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest a little, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. "All right, here goes nothing. Wish me luck."

"I was gonna say something rude, but since you look so nervous ... Good luck, man." Mike slapped his shoulder once and gave him a push towards the door.

Sam exited the locker room and looked around, but didn't see Mercedes anywhere near the locker rooms. Momentarily confused, he scratched his head and wondered if maybe he had taken too long in the shower when he saw movement near the entrance to the pool. He quickly deduced that it was her and loped towards the door. When he entered he spotted her slowly walking around the edge of the pool. She was wearing skinny jeans and a sparkly top that accentuated all of her best assets, and had paired her ensemble with low heeled boots.

"Hey, Mercedes." He had tried to make enough noise on his way in to signal his arrival, but realized he'd been unsuccessful when she turned to face him so quickly that she nearly slipped. "Whoa there!" Having been around the pool more than she, he'd gotten used to navigating his way around the edges that never seemed to be completely dry. He made his way over to her and grabbed her hand, leading her towards the nearby bleachers.

"Let's sit. It'll be safer that way." They each took a seat and gazed towards the pool in front of them. He knew that he should probably let go of her hand, but she hadn't yet made a move to pull away, so he wasn't going to either.

"I know how to swim, you know. If I'd fallen I could have gotten myself out."

He nudged her with his shoulder gently. "Yeah, but the water would ruin those boots, and your hair, and you know it." If there was one part of her wardrobe that Mercedes really cared about, it was what was on her feet. And do not get her started on proper hair care ...

She giggled softly and nodded her head. "Ah, I guess you have a point."

"Yep." He was quiet as he enjoyed the feel of her hand in his and her presence beside him. She still wore the same perfume, and as he inhaled deeply he was reminded of the many summer nights they'd spent star gazing in the park after he'd gotten off work. The smell of hot pizza grew nauseating after a few hours, and he always seemed to find himself with his face buried in the crook of her neck, nearly intoxicated by her scent, as they'd lain together, drenched in the moonlight, on a blanket on the hill overlooking the playground. Wrapped in each other's arms, they'd talked in hushed tones about every subject under the sun. Those nights were some of his favorite memories, and it didn't take much—a touch, a smell—for him to relive them all over again.

Minutes passed with neither of them speaking. He would have been content to sit there with her all night, but the last time he had let himself get this close to her, he'd scared her off. "Mike said that you ... You wanted to talk to me about something?"

"What? Oh yeah." He'd obviously broken her out of whatever trance she'd been in, but she didn't seem upset. He felt her shift beside him and expected her to pull her hand away, but instead she squeezed it. "I just wanted to tell you that this whole thing was amazing. I know Mike helped you come up with the choreography, but it was your idea and you're the one who got everyone together. How often does a person get to say they were a part of someone else's proposal? It was a great day."

He hadn't expected her to say anything close to what she had just said, and her words made his heart flop. He wasn't quite sure how to respond, so he just shrugged. "You know me ... I love a good grand gesture. It was no big deal. I'm just glad it all came together."

"I do know you, and you're failing to mention the fact that you're a hopeless romantic," she said, a faint trace of delight present in her voice.

"Don't tell anyone."

"You say that like everyone doesn't already know."

Sam was reminded of his earlier conversation with Mike and chuckled. They had fallen into an easy banter, similar to the early days of last year. He had to admit that it was a nice feeling, to be able to do something so familiar, but he also didn't want to go back. They had already built a friendship; had already taken the steps the push things beyond friendship. Was he a horrible person for having little desire to repeat the past?

"Mercedes—"

"I don't mean to interrupt you, but that I have more to say, and if I don't say it now I'm going to lose my nerve."

"Oh." He was certain that he wore a look of bewilderment at her divulgence, but he made a motion with his hand for her to continue.

"The other day, you asked me to look you in the eyes and tell you that I would be content to just be your friend. You said that if I could do that then you would leave me alone."

Damn it. He should have known that his words would come back to haunt him. This was it. She'd spent the week considering her options and had decided that he wasn't the best one. She was about to thank him for playing, but make it clear that she'd decided to go with another contestant. One who would better suit her needs. One who her parents loved. One who could sit through Iron Man without fan-boying over Tony Stark and his badass-ness.

"Wait, Mercedes. I—"

She giggled softly and turned to him, placing the index finger of her free hand over his lips in the universal signal of requesting silence. "It occurred to me that ever since you've been back, you've been the one doing most of the talking. You've pulled me into empty classrooms, you've sat outside of bathroom doors, you've said monologues comparing us to fictional TV characters, and you've followed me to my locker ..."

Well, when she said it like that ... He sounded like a stalker.

"And that's fine, because that's who you are. Sometimes it's easier for you to process your thoughts out loud, and I respect that. But now it's my turn. So please. Just listen okay?"

All he could do was nod, but since that was all she'd requested, it was all she needed to continue.

"So every day this week, I have been practicing. I've said the words as I look into a mirror. I've visualized it in my mind. And in my mind, I am flawless. In my mind, I put on my diva face and I march right up to you and say exactly that: I just want to be friends. I had every intention of saying the words."

This was getting torturous.

He almost interrupted her again to beg that she just release the ax and put him out of his misery. If she was going to do this, he'd appreciate it if she could let him down quickly so he could go sulk in a corner for the rest of the school year.

"But then ... Mr. Schue decides to call an emergency glee club meeting so that he can tell us about this amazing proposal number that someone has come up with. And I am about to be pissed as all hell over the fact that once again Berry is getting her way, but then he says that the idea came from you."

Where was this going? She was taking a different direction than he'd originally thought, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Maybe she was just toying with him before she dropped the bomb, just like a cat would play with a mouse before going in for the kill. A part of him knew that he was being ridiculous, because Mercedes could never be the cruel, but rationality never seemed to be at the forefront of his mind.

"I guess what I'm saying is that ... I tried. I tried really hard to be able bring myself to say those words to you. But then you come up with an amazing proposal and you smile at me every time I see you in the hall, even when I scowl at you. And you are concerned for my shoes, and my hair ... So I can't." There was a brief pause as she seemed to be searching for the words she wanted to say. "I don't know, maybe I'm weak for letting you affect me so much … But how can something, or someone, that makes me feel so good possibly make me weak? I don't think it does. I guess I think that maybe you—us, whatever it is that we have together—is actually what makes me strong. Because it's that feeling that gives me the courage to speak right now. So … I can't say the words because I don't mean them."

He was too shocked to even begin to know where start. Was she serious?

"I am not going to be satisfied with just being your friend. But where does that leave me? I have a boyfriend, a good boyfriend who treats me well and has plans. He has _plans_ for us, Sam. And maybe I don't want all those plans, but the point is that he sees a future with me. How am I supposed to tell him that I have feelings for another guy? Especially when I swore to him, up and down and sideways, that I was over the other guy. I can't."

Well, damn.

"Mercedes."

"All I am asking for is some time. Okay? Just give me some time to sort all of this out."

She'd left the door open for him, and he could almost see the dim ray of light that lead to their future. He could hear her quiet voice telling him that this thing wasn't over yet. They still had a chance.

He nodded.

Once.

Twice.

It was all she needed to be satisfied with his answer. "Okay then."

She stood up and began walking towards the exit when he finally found his voice again.

"You really liked the proposal?"

She turned and smiled at him. "Yes, I did."

Her smile gave him the confidence he needed to say the words that were on the tip of his tongue. Mike might kill him when he found out about this, but he had to say them anyway.

"Just so you know. When I propose to you someday ... And I mean, _really _propose to you … Today will pale in comparison."

She shook her head at him and turned to leave, but the skip in her step was unmistakable and he was unable to stop himself from doing a small fist-pump.

Maybe the light at the end of the tunnel wasn't so dim after all.

_I grab the wheel,_

_I keep on steering for you,_

_I keep on steering for you_

_I'm in your garden now,_

_I picked them flowers out,_

_I went too far right now,_

_I meant we bottomed out,_

_You dig for higher ground,_

_You hit the fire now,_

_No time for stopping tore the wires out._

_(Wires out)_

_I'm in over my head,  
><em>

_Over my head,  
><em>

_You dig me deep, deep, deep  
><em>

_You dig me deep, deep, deep_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note:I know that this was a transitional chapter (leading to more exciting events, such as The Kiss), but I hope that it was at least somewhat worth the wait. Please forgive any errors I've missed. Again I apologize for my lack of updating speed. Life is increasingly busy and, to be honest, summer seems to be a difficult time for me to sit and write. Regardless, I'll try to be better! Thank you (thank you thank you!) to those who review and sign up for alerts. They make my day, for real. <strong>

**Regarding the future of the story, chapters will be going somewhat hand-in-hand with the episodes of the show, but I'll be continuing to make changes to better fit the Sam and Mercedes story that I am attempting to tell. A one-shot from Mercedes' POV is something I definitely want to do, so look for that eventually ...**

**The song that this chapter was loosely inspired by is "The Wren" by a hip-hop collective called Doomtree. The relationship in the song is more twisted, but several of the lyrics are very poignant to me. Anyway, if hip-hop is your thing, check 'em out. **


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